

1 



1 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Chap7EZ::| Copyright No. : 

siieif..-y7.5i3|i Sir 1 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 












) 






\$i 7 -.’ 

. h ^ A 


% ♦ ^ 

■•i- >--‘ir 


'• .• 




.^L- ■ \ 


1^ 


¥ 




« *i 


».•* 




V *‘. 


vr- 



^ V * 


^»- 






- ' '■ 

r\ *.► ’4 

i. • r 


i* • V •* I . « 

" .fj'. . - 

»'> . . . . . 


.t 


♦» * 




’ .f 




M -• ■» 


f 


•?«. . 


» # 


» V 


•t • 



** • 






' r* 


* » • .* 


' 


*1 ,4 


:.a>> . 


•*• i 


•r 


\ « 

• • '“ • 


1 -r 

^ ' • 

A ' • 


'* • V 

r^*-, . .- • 

, ^ J. I 



' V. 


t 

• '' 



« • 


f -*-■■ 



> ' 

' • • X 


C ’ • ' 
v.ft.1. , • 

• • 

t 

y • • 

i 

• 

• 

- *3 ^ 


1 


• • 




•*' • 


. 1 


,, •. .‘■. ■»v>, 

V * *^'J‘ T 


Su; 


•» • 




« 




»• .' 


* . 


(-■ 




t 4> 




. -*4 


« I 


> . 


* -r.‘ 




,? -* 4r»w.^.' i--, - 

.j . •' 


*'•■ ‘ ^ V'V,^ > •'■*"' '• V *"■ 

,-•■ V^"' ■■ ■!.-'^. ‘ v. . - ^ 


• *\# ' •. 


t ■'.-» < 

• ! 


. ^/-<. ; 

I*' I ’ « . ^4 • ’ 





LIBRARY OF HEROIC EVENTS 

BY 

EVERETT T. TOMLINSON 

Stories of Colonial Days 

Stories of the Revolution, Part I 

Stories of the Revolution, Part II 

Stories of the War of 1812 

Stories of the Boyhood of Famous Americans 



t 





“Now PUT Watts into Them, Boys!” 

Frontispiece 


STORIES 


OF THE 

American Revolution 



EVERETT T. TOMLINSON 


AUTHOR OF “the SEARCH FOR ANDREW FIELD,” ” THE BOY SOLDIERS OF 
1812,” “ THE BOY OFFICERS OF l8l2,” “ TECUMSEH’s YOUNG BRAVES,” 
“guarding the border,” “three colonial BOYS,” 

“ THREE YOUNG CONTINENTALS,” “ WASHINGTON’S 
YOUNG AIDS,” “ WARD HILL AT WESTON,” 

ETC., ETC. 



Part I. 


^ OF 

DEC 17 1897 ^ 

of Covf ^ " 


BOSTON ^ 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

1898 

TWO COPIES RECEIVED 


Copyright, 1897, by Leh and Shepard 


All rights reserved 


Stories of the American Revolution 


C. J. PETERS & SON, TYPOGRAPHERS, BOSTON. 


BERWICK & SMITH, PRINTERS. 


ji/y 


PREFACE 


The foundation of these stories is historically 
true. The incidents of home-life, of the struggles 
of the women and children who were left to defend 
themselves as best they could, of the privations, 
bravery, and heroism of those who never went upon 
a battlefield, haVe been too much neglected. The 
men who shouldered their muskets, and at the peril 
of their lives went forth to meet the foe, are not 
likely to be forgotten ; but the no less heroic deeds 
of those who were left behind are ofttimes slighted. 
We have studied the battlefields sometimes to the 
exclusion of the lives of the men and the women. 

The author in putting forth these stories con- 
fesses to one graye fear. He would not in any 
way enkindle to-day a feeling of hatred towards 
the mother country. There are too many reasons 
why the relations between the two lands should 
be, and should continue to be, friendly, for him in 
any way to try to keep alive the feelings which 
prevailed during the Revolution. The times have 
changed, and it is to be hoped that we may change 
with them. 

iii 


IV 


PREFACE 


There is, however, a very decided need of a re- 
vival of patriotism to-day. The highest patriotism 
may win its victories in times of peace as well as 
in times of war. But there is no deep love of coun- 
try without a thorough appreciation of what it has 
cost to found and develop the land we love. The 
struggles of our fathers were heroic, and are worthy 
of remembrance ; and it is well for us all to know 
something of the price which they paid that we 
might have a country, in order that we may pre- 
serve and defend that which they have bequeathed 
to us. 

As supplementary lessons in history, as examples 
of patient endurance and of the highest bravery, 
these stories are sent forth, with the hope that 
they may enkindle in the hearts of the young read- 
ers a desire to know more of the history of their 
own land, and a purpose to be true to the best the 
fathers have left as a heritage to us. 

Some of these stories have appeared before this 
book was issued. I wish to express my apprecia- 
tion of the kindness of the S. S. McClure Co., The 
Independent, The Bacheller Syndicate, and others, 
in permitting me to use them here. 


EVERETT T. TOMLINSON. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I. The Fighting Parson of ’76 i 

II. Margaret Schuyler’s Quick Wit 9 

III. An Escape from the Prison-ship — The Jer- 

sey 21 

IV. Colonel Robert Cochran — the Spy ... 30 

V. Saratoga Song 42 

VI. Fighting the British with Bees ...... 48 

VII. The Mother of George Washington ... 55 

VIII. The Baron of the Pines 63 

IX. The Heroism of Elizabeth Zane .... 71 

X. King’s Mountain 84 

XI. Firing the Ship 86 

XII. John Schell’s Statagem 94 

XIII. The War Woman’s Guests 102 

XIV. An Old-Time Decoration Day no 

XV. Mrs. Benedict Arnold 119 

XVI. Nathan Hale 126 

XVH. Between Two Fires 128 

XVHI. Mrs. Slocumb’s Visitors 136 

XIX. The Wife of General Greene 143 

XX. The Capture at Ramapo Pass 150 

XXI. The Dance 163 


V 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ Now PUT Watts into them, boys ! ” , . . Frontispiece 

“ Wench, Wench ! ” he shouted, “ where is your 

MASTER?” Page 

“ And him with shouts of gladness the army 

i 

DID receive”- “44 

“ Have I the pleasure of addressing Mistress 

Clarke ? ” “50 

The soldiers rose from the straw and fired, “ 69 ' 

“ Are you the boys who went over to Staten 

Island yesterday ? ” “88 

“ I’ll shoot the first man who takes a step 

TOWARD ME ” “ IO7 

“ Hol’ on, Massa! hol’ on!” he shouted ... “ 141 


vu 




STORIES 


OF THE 

AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


I 

THE FIGHTING PARSON OF ’76 

It was sunrise in the morning of Wednesday, 
June 7, 1780. In spite of the early hour, quaint old 
Elizabethtown, New Jersey, was all astir. Fright- 
ened faces were peering out of windows ; and the 
cries of little children, who, without knowing why, 
shared in the alarm, were frequently heard. On the 
streets were some of the bolder men and many of 
the boys, whom not even a British army could 
keep silent. 

In some of these groups Whigs and Tories stood 
together ; but they had little to say to one another, 
for the feelings were very bitter now. The boys, 
reflecting the opinions of their elders, were not so 
silent, however, and frequently uttered taunting 


I 


2 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

words. But the Whigs, though determined, were 
much depressed, and the Tories were correspond- 
ingly elated. 

*‘WeVe got you now,” said one young Tory to 
John Dayton, whose father was an ardent Whig. 
*‘Your father’ll soon be in jail.” 

** I’d rather see him there than be such a turn- 
coat as your father is, Jim Todd,” replied John. 

He never ran over to Staten Island for shelter, 
and then ran home again when he thought every- 
thing was safe. Besides, I hear that General Stir- 
ling, who was in the van of this procession, was 
shot in the thigh last night. Perhaps somebody 
else’ll get hurt too.” 

“ Here they come, John,” said his friend Joseph 
Hatfield, pointing down Water Street ; and all the 
boys became silent, watching the approaching army. 

In advance rode the Hessian general, Knyphau- 
sen, and his staff. Behind followed the Queen’s 
Rangers,” mounted on large and beautiful horses, 
waving their drawn swords, and with their helmets 
glittering in the sunlight. Behind them came 
the infantry, Hessian and English, the brass of 
their steel weapons highly polished, and every man 
with a new uniform. Cheers continually rose from 
the Tories as the six thousand soldiers passed, and 
the Whigs were silent and depressed. What could 
Washington, with his poorly equipped soldiers at 
Morristown, do against such men ? And for Mor- 


THE FIGHTING PARSON OF '^6 


3 


ristown this army had started on that June morn- 
ing, to take Washington and crush the rebellion. 

“ I hope they don’t get our parson,” said Joseph, 
as he and his friend started up the street when all 
the soldiers had passed. “ I understand he is the 
only man in New Jersey besides Governor Living- 
ston for whose head the British have offered a 
reward.” 

*^You trust Parson James Caldwell,” replied 
John. ‘‘ He hasn’t preached in this Presbyterian 
church for nothing. Why, from the very begin- 
ning of the war he has been one of the most 
active men, and they haven’t done him much dam- 
age yet.” 

‘‘ No ; but they’ve made him preach, when he has 
been at home, with pistols on the pulpit beside his 
Bible, and with sentinels posted in the church-yard.” 

“ I don’t care about that. I don’t blame the 
British for feeling hard toward a parson who hasn’t 
gone alone into the fight. Why, do you know 
there have been thirty-nine commissioned officers 
among the Continentals from his church } And 
then, besides being a good fighting chaplain in 
Colonel Dayton’s regiment, he is assistant com- 
missary-general. The British have tried to kidnap 
him time and again. But he knew how to fight 
the devil ; and I guess he can fight like him, too, if 
necessary.” 

Joseph laughed as he replied, But it’s too bad 


4 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

he has to keep his family up at Connecticut Farms 
for safety. But here comes your father. I won- 
der what he wants ? ” 

“John,” said Mr. Dayton hurriedly, “I want 
you to take your horse, and ride as you never did 
before for Prospect Hill. Joseph can go, too, if he 
wants to. The British have gone by the long 
road, and you can get there before them if you 
ride hard.” 

In a brief time the boys, each on his own horse, 
were riding at breakneck speed for Prospect Hill. 
Their horses were foaming when they arrived, 
but the British had not yet appeared. 

“ Boom ! ” went the long eighteen-pound signal 
cannon there; and all the people of the region 
soon knew what that meant. From every direc- 
tion the men began to assemble, and with strange- 
looking weapons prepared to meet the invaders. 

Colonel Dayton’s men, Parson Caldwell among 
them, were compelled to retreat ; but after the 
manner of the fight at Lexington, the militia fell 
on the British army. At last, when deserters told 
the Hessian general that Washington was strongly 
intrenched at Short Hills, he gave up all thoughts 
of an advance, and camped with his army for the 
night at Connecticut Farms, v/here Parson Cald- 
well had left his wife and nine children. He had 
urged her to leave the place ; but, brave as he, she 
had refused to do so. 


THE FIGHTING PARSON OF ’76 $ 

The British at once began to pillage and burn. 
The old church was set on fire, as were also the 
most of the few houses and shops. On the eastern 
side of the street was the old parsonage, in which 
Parson Caldwell’s family was staying. A party of 
British officers came and ordered Mrs. Caldwell to 
set before them the best food she had. She com- 
plied, and then, with her younger children and a 
maid, withdrew into a bedroom and fastened the 
door. 

There’s a redcoat soldier just jumped over the 
fence, and is coming right up to the window with 
a gun,” said the maid excitedly soon after the 
door was closed. 

Let me see ! Let me see ! ” said little Elias, 
the two-year-old son of the parson. Mrs. Caldwell 
arose, and went to the window. The soldier was 
near now, and for a moment he glared at the de- 
fenceless woman. 

Don’t attempt to scare me,” said Mrs. Cald- 
well quietly ; but before another word could be 
spoken, the soldier raised his gun, loaded with two 
balls, and fired. Both balls entered her body, and 
without a groan she fell dead. 

Only after a long persuasion was the body 
given to the neighbors before the house was 
burned. Night soon came on ; and in the midst 
of a drenching rain the British army departed, 
and marched back to Staten Island. 


6 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

The following day a brief funeral service was 
held at the house of a neighbor, and Parson Cald- 
well was present. People noted how hard his face 
was, but he did not shed a tear at the time. 

Again the British determined to start for Wash- 
ington’s quarters, and capture him and his men. 
This time, on the twenty-third of June, Sir Henry 
Clinton led his men in person, and twenty pieces 
of artillery were carried with them. 

Again the signal gun on Prospect Hill sent forth 
its warning, and again the militia quickly gathered. 
The passes among the hills were guarded, the 
bridges were torn up, and the forces divided to 
meet the two divisions of the British. 

Near Springfield were Colonel Dayton’s men. 
Parson Caldwell with set face among them, fight- 
ing as scarcely any of them did. The British 
army was pressing hard. The Americans were 
desperate, and determined not to yield, when sud- 
denly the cry arose, “ The wadding is gone ! ” It 
seemed as if they must retreat, and the end had 
come. 

Suddenly Parson Caldwell rushed into the church 
by the roadside. Had he run away ? Was he try- 
ing to escape ? Soon the men saw the fighting 
parson return, his arms loaded down with copies of 
Isaac Watts’s hymns. “ Now put Watts into them, 
boys ! Give ’em Watts ! ” he shouted, and ran 
into the church for another armful. 


THE FIGHTING PARSON OF ’76 / 

The soldiers had heard of beating learning into 
boys, but it was a new experience to shoot Watts’s 
hymns into men ; and with a shout they renewed 
their work, taking a more determined stand than 
ever before. 

But now their numbers were constantly increas- 
ing. The British were not accustomed to this 
method of warfare, although one might fancy that 
they would have profited by their experience at 
Concord and Lexington ; and soon they began 
their return to Staten Island, and Washington again 
was safe. In all the various engagements of the 
day the Americans lost only thirteen killed and 
had forty-nine wounded, while one of the British 
officers afterward reported that their loss had been 
nearly five hundred. 

From this time forward Parson Caldwell never 
seemed to rest. He made many a touching appeal 
to his men, based upon the cruel murder of his 
wife, and never failed to gain a response. The 
British tried many plans to capture or kill him, 
fully realizing how dangerous a man he was ; but 
they all failed until the 24th of November, 1781, 
which was long remembered as a sad day in the 
history of New Jersey. 

On that day he had promised to meet the 
daughter of a friend who was coming to Elizabeth- 
town by water from New York. When he went 
on board the flag-sloop at the Point,” he was told 


8 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

that the young lady had already gone to the town. 
He started to return, when some one handed him 
a parcel wrapped in a white handkerchief, and re- 
quested him to take it with him. 

He placed it in his chair-box, and was about to 
depart, when a soldier stopped him and said, “I 
must search your chair, to see whether you have 
not seizable goods in that bundle.” 

The parson replied that he would return the 
bundle to the sloop; but as he stepped on board, 
a man on the quarter-deck, within two yards of him, 
with an oath stopped him, and before a word could 
be spoken, the soldier presented his musket and 
fired. Parson Caldwell fell dead at his feet. 

It was true that Morgan, the murderer, was 
quickly arrested, and afterwards hung for his deed ; 
but all were assured that he had been bribed to 
kill the fighting parson, just as Tryon had tried to 
find some one to poison Washington. 

If any of you ever visit Elizabeth, you will find 
in the old churchyard of the First Presbyterian 
Church a marked monument with a quaint and 
touching inscription upon it, declaring that beneath 
that stone there rest the bodies of Rev. James Cald- 
well (the fighting parson of ’76), and of Hannah, 
his wife. A much longer and quainter inscription 
was on the earlier stone, but this still serves to tell 
us of one of the noble deeds of our fathers. 


MARGARET SCHUYLER’s QUICK WIT 


9 


II 

MARGARET SCHUYLER’s QUICK WIT 

One summer evening in August, 1781, two men 
were seated at a table in the public room of a 
tavern in a settlement about twenty-five miles 
north of Albany. They had been engaged in an 
earnest conversation for an hour or more, and 
evidently one of the men had been trying to per- 
suade the other to enter into some project which 
he was proposing. He had been speaking ear- 
nestly, but in such low tones that none of the few 
stragglers that entered the room could hear what 
he was saying ; but his companion was plainly in* 
terested, and while he said but little, he was lis- 
tening attentively to the words of his friend. 

And well he might ; for the speaker was none 
other than Joe Bettys, whose name was known 
and feared throughout that region. At the break- 
ing out of the Revolution he had been ^n ardent 
Whig : but he was captured by the British in 
Arnold’s struggle on Lake Champlain, and from 
that day he was a changed man ; for while he was 
a captive in Canada he had listened to the words of 


10 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

his captors, and had accepted the position of en- 
sign under the royal standard. 

Hatred and malice seemed to rule him from that 
time, and he was ever active in plots against his 
former friends. He became notorious as a spy, 
and not long before this very time had been cap- 
tured, and sentenced to be hanged. Indeed, he 
already had been led upon the gallows, and was 
about to have the noose placed about his neck, 
when Washington, overcome by the tears and 
pleadings of the spy’s mother, had released and 
pardoned the traitor on the one condition that he 
would reform. 

Joe Betty s had promised readily enough, but had 
gone directly from Washington’s camp to that of 
the enemy, and instead of any feeling of gratitude, 
had redoubled his energy and evil deeds. Mur- 
ders, plundering, and burning the homes of the 
Whigs had followed ; and of late he had been un- 
usually active in kidnapping isolated colonials, and 
sending them to Canada for exchange. He had no 
forebodings of his fate then ; but when, a year 
later, he again was captured, and soon after was 
executed at Albany, all the region breathed a sigh 
of relief. 

His companion at this time was John Walter- 
meyer, as eager a Tory and bitter a partisan as he; 
but as he was lacking in some of the bolder quali- 
ties of Bettys, he was better in executing the plans 


MARGARET SCHUYLER’s QUICK WIT 


I 


of Others than in devising them himself. And 
Bettys had met him by appointment, and had been 
explaining to him the details of his proposal. 

The spy was disguised, but none the less he 
was watchful and nervous ; and his suspicions had 
been aroused by the entrance of a stranger, who, 
while he gave no signs of his being aware of the 
presence of others in the room, nevertheless had 
impressed Bettys that his quick glance and keen 
eyes were not unmindful of passing events. 

“ I know him,” said Waltermeyer. “ He’s one 
of the strongest loyalists in Albany. You need 
have no fears of him.” 

‘‘I don’t just like his looks, though,” replied 
Bettys. Come out into the yard ; ” and the two 
men arose and left the house. 

** Now, mind,” continued Bettys, when he and 
his friend were once outside, I’ll see that you 
have a gang of just the right sort. Some of the 
Tories will be glad to go in, and I’ll have some 
Canadians and Indians along too. It won’t do to 
trust too much to the locals, for they may be weak- 
kneed at the last.” 

<^A11 right,” replied Waltermeyer, who had de- 
cided to do as the spy directed. ‘‘You have them 
at the meeting of the roads, about five miles out 
of the town, to-morrow evening, and I’ll be there.” 

“I’ll not fail,” replied Bettys. “Good luck to 
you, and good-by,” he added, as he stood for a 


12 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

moment and watched his friend as he mounted his 
horse, and soon disappeared in the darkness. Then 
the spy himself started northward, just as the 
stranger, whom he had suspected, appeared in the 
doorway of the tavern. 

A bold plan, but it ought not to work. In 
fact, much as I dislike to, I think I’ll have to take 
a hand in it myself. A man’s friends sometimes 
may be higher than King George himself,” mur- 
mured the stranger to himself. 

And what was the “ bold plan ” to which he had 
referred.? Nothing less than the kidnapping of 
General Schuyler. For some time the general had 
not been in active service ; but although he was 
staying in his large and beautiful home near Al- 
bany, he was by no means idle. Washington had 
given him special instructions to intercept all com- 
munications between Clinton, who then was in 
New York, and General Haldimand in Canada. 

Few men had won the confidence and respect 
of the American commander as had Philip Schuy- 
ler, and few men were more feared by the British. 
His service had been great, and he always had 
shown the spirit of a true man as well as of a 
brave soldier; and although he had given up his 
position in the Continental army, there was no one 
the British would have been more delighted to 
capture than he. 

On the evening following the interview we have 


MARGARET SCHUYLER’s QUICK WIT 1 3 

described, John Waltermeyer was at the cross- 
roads, awaiting the coming of the band which the 
spy had promised. He had not been there long 
before he heard the sounds of approaching men. 
He stepped behind one of the large trees that 
grew by the roadside, and waited for them to come 
near. They were talking in low tones ; but as 
soon as he heard them he was satisfied that they 
were the men he wanted, and giving the watch- 
word agreed upon, approached and joined them. 

. They made up a motley crowd of a dozen men. 
He recognized some as former acquaintances, but 
the Indians and Tories were all strangers. Rely- 
ing upon the word of Joe Bettys that they could 
be depended upon, he immediately entered into 
conversation, and arranged his plans. In a brief 
time they all had approached the home of General 
Schuyler, and were peering from behind the pine- 
trees and shrubbery that grew about the place. 

The lights in the house had disappeared, and it 
was evident that all within had retired. Disap- 
pointed, Waltermeyer withdrew his band, and pre- 
pared for the night. 

The next day a careful watch was kept, but the 
opportunity they desired did not present itself. 
Frequently the general came out upon the lawn ; 
but he was always attended, and the cowardly men 
wanted to catch him alone. Sometimes he was 
seated on the broad piazza, playing with his 


14 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

youngest child, and sometimes he was with one 
of his daughters and her children ; but servants in 
each case were not far away, and the attempt could 
not be made. 

Several days passed in this manner, and Walter- 
meyer found his men becoming restless. Some- 
thing must be done. Starting out alone, he soon 
returned to the camp they had made in the woods, 
attended by a Dutchman whom he had met and 
compelled to accompany him. 

“Now, Hans,” said Waltermeyer, when he had 
called his band about him, “we want to know just 
how many men are in Schuyler’s house.” 

“Yah,” replied Hans, turning his round, expres- 
sionless face from one man to another. “ Yah ; 
dere vas men, also vimins dere ” — 

“Yes, but how many?” asked Waltermeyer 
impatiently. 

“ I should dink dere vas,” replied Hans. 

“ But how many? ” repeated the Tory. 

“ Shust aboud enough,” answered the laconic 
Dutchman. 

“ But doesn’t Schuyler ever leave home ? Doesn’t 
he go alone ? When does he go to Albany ? ” 
The leader, almost hopeless, was changing the line 
of his questions. 

“Yah; he goes to Albany. Sometimes mit de 
soldiers — but alvays mit de guns. General Schuy- 
ler, he know how to shood.” 


MARGARET SCHUYLER’s QUICK WIT 1 5 

At length, by dint of many questions, Walter- 
meyer contrived to gain some of the information 
he was seeking ; and with many threats of what 
would befall him if he revealed the presence of his 
men, or repeated the questions he had asked, he 
dismissed the Dutchman, and watched him as he 
departed down the road. 

His heart would not have been comforted if he 
could have followed him ; for Hans proceeded di- 
rectly to General Schuyler’s home, and was with 
him a long time in his private room. When at 
last he arose to go, he met on the piazza the man 
of whom Joe Betty s had been suspicious during 
his interview with John Waltermeyer. 

He, too, remained in the general’s private room 
for half an hour ; and when his host accompanied 
him to the door he said, “ I thank you, my friend. 
We are on opposite sides in this fearful struggle ; 
but you have placed friendship above country, and 
I should be less than a man did I not heed two 
such warnings as I have just had.” 

But you’ll protect yourself, will you not } ” said 
the Tory. 

''Never fear, my friend,” replied the general, 
with a smile. “I shall do as you suggest.” 

As a result of these two warnings. General 
Schuyler obtained a guard of six men, three of 
whom were to be on duty by day, and three by 
night. 


1 6 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Several days passed, and no signs of the kid- 
nappers appeared. The family began to think the 
alarm had been needless, and that if there had 
been any danger, it had now passed. The guard, 
howover, was not dismissed, and all due precau- 
tions still were observed. More than a week had 
passed now since the interview of Joe Bettys with 
John Waltermeyer, and the general was hoping 
that the project had been abandoned. 

It had been an exceedingly sultry day, even for 
August ; and after the evening meal the general 
and his family were sitting in the large front hall, 
enjoying the cool breeze which had just sprung 
up. The servants were scattered about the place ; 
and the three men who had been on guard during 
the day were asleep in the basement of the house, 
while the three who were on duty were lying on 
the cool grass in the garden. The children were 
playing about their elders, and all were rejoicing 
that the cause for alarm had passed, as they sup- 
posed. 

“ General, there’s a man who wants to speak 
with you at the back gate,” said one of the ser- 
vants, approaching the house. 

“ I know what that means,” said General Schuy- 
ler, immediately arising. “ I want every one of 
you,” he added, turning to his family, “to go to 
the room upstairs. Don’t wait, but go imme- 
diately.” 


MARGARET SCHUYLER’s QUICK WIT 1 7 

The frightened women and children quickly 
obeyed ; and the general, calling to the servants, 
barred the doors and locked the windows. As 
soon as he saw that this had been done, he ran to 
his bedroom for his gun. 

He stepped to the window in his room for a mo- 
ment and looked out. What was that he saw.? 
The sun had set, but there was light enough to 
enable him to see that the house was surrounded 
by men. It was a moment of danger ; but the 
guard must be aroused, and perhaps the town 
might be alarmed also ; so out of the open window 
he fired his gun, and then quickly drew the heavy 
shutters and fastened them. He was just in time; 
for a volley was fired by the ruffians, and he could 
hear the thud of the bullets as they struck against 
the house. 

All was confusion now. With a shout, the band 
started for the door of the hall. They had brought 
rails and heavy pieces of timber with them, and an 
exultant yell soon showed that they had succeeded 
in breaking down the door. A crowd of men 
rushed into the house, and began to shout for the 
general to give himself up and save all further 
trouble. His family were all in the room with him 
now ; but the darkness concealed the pallor on their 
cheeks, and not a word had been uttered. 

Just as the Tories burst into the hall, Mrs. 
Schuyler thought of the baby she had left in the 


1 8 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

nursery below. In the confusion, each had thought 
another had brought the little one, and the mother 
had just discovered her loss. 

My baby ! my baby ! ” she cried. I shall go 
for it. They will murder it. I know they will ! ” 

Nay,” said the general, as he firmly grasped 
his frantic wife ; it will be at the forfeit of your 
life ; and the ruffians may not touch it.” 

“ Then I shall go,” said Margaret, his third . 
daughter ; and before she could be restrained she 
had rushed from the room, run down the two flights 
of stairs, and gained the nursery. 

The babe was sleeping in the cradle, all uncon- 
scious of danger; and in a moment Margaret had 
snatched up the little one, still asleep, and started 
to return. 

She had just gained the stairs when she was 
‘stopped by one of the men, who roughly grasped 
her by the arm. It was John Waltermeyer him- 
self ; but she did not know him, nor was he aware 
who it was before him. Plainly enough she was 
a young woman ; and, as she held a babe in her 
arms, he at once concluded that she must be one 
of the servants. 

Wench, wench,” he shouted, << where is your 
master ” 

Margaret Schuyler was greatly frightened, but 
she did not lose her presence of mind. Almost 
like an inspiration a quick thought came ; and rais- 


MARGARET SCHYULER’s QUICK WIT IQ 

ing her voice so that she could be heard in the 
room above, she replied, “ He’s gone to alarm the 
town.” 

John Waltermeyer hesitated. If that were true, 
not a moment ought to be lost in making their es- 
cape. His men were in the dining-room now, and 
he could hear them as they collected the silver, 
quarrelling among themselves. Evidently the gen- 
eral’s silver was as desirable as the general’s per- 
son, and the ruffians had decided to secure what 
was nearest first. 

While the leader was hesitating, he heard a voice 
calling out of the window above, “ Come on, my 
brave fellows ; surround the house, and secure the 
villains ! They are now in the dining-room, plun- 
dering ! ” 

That was enough. The leader did not know 
that not a soldier was about the place, nor that the 
call was made by the general, who had followed up 
the words of his quick-witted daughter. Not a 
brave fellow ” was near ; and even the guards in 
the cellar, awakened by the confusion, could not 
find their guns. They did not know till afterwards 
that General Schuyler’s daughter, Mrs. Church, had 
removed them all, confident that all danger had 
passed, and fearful that her little boy, who delighted 
in playing with them, might be injured. 

Run, boys ! ” shouted the frightened Walter- 
meyer. ‘‘The Continentals are all around us!” 


20 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

His companions needed no second warning, and 
delaying only long enough to secure their booty 
and capture the three guards on the lawn, began 
to run ; and the early records inform us that they 
never stopped until they arrived on the borders of 
Canada. 

The guards, although they had no guns, used 
their brawny arms and fists to good advantage ; 
and if there had been a little more light, might have 
escaped after all. Afterwards they had no cause 
to regret their capture, however ; for the records 
inform us of farms in Saratoga County presented 
by General Schuyler to John Tubbs, John Corlies, 
and John Ward. John must have been a popular 
name in those days. 

But General Schuyler was saved ; and the hero- 
ism of his quick-witted daughter, who afterward be- 
came the wife of General Van Rensselaer, deserves 
a place among the stories of the days that tried 
the souls of men. 


AN ESCAPE FROM THE PRISON-SHIP 


21 


III 

AN ESCAPE FROM THE PRISON-SHIP THE JERSEY 

Thomas Andros was a prisoner on board the 
Jersey. In the summer of 1781 he had left his 
home in Massachusetts, and, with some of the men 
in the congregation to which he preached, had 
joined the crew of a privateer ; but only a few weeks 
had passed before the swift sloop was taken, and 
now the young preacher was a prisoner. His 
name was registered as soon as he was received on 
board the prison-ship ; and he had been assigned to 
his place in a mess of six, and then sent below 
into the hold. 

As soon as his eyes became accustomed to the 
darkness, he looked about him at his fellow-pris- 
oners, of whom there were a thousand at the time. 
Filth was on every side of him, and the air was so 
foul that he hardly could breathe. Many of his 
companions were ill ; and dysentery, small-pox, and 
prison-fever abounded. Vermin crawled over the 
filthy and tattered clothing of the men, and de- 
spair and hunger were expressed on almost every 
face. 


22 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Hell can’t be worse than this,” said the young 
preacher, with a shudder, to the man nearest him. 

“You may well say that,” said the man, whom 
Andros perceived to be gray-headed. His face 
was thin, and his scanty clothing but partially cov- 
ered his emaciated form. “ Hell ” was the name 
by which the Jersey came to be known, but neither 
knew it at the time. 

“Is there no hope } ” asked Andros. 

“None,” replied the man. “The British don’t 
consider the crews of privateers as prisoners of 
war ; and the Americans don’t want to exchange 
able-bodied soldiers for such wrecks of men as you 
see here.” 

“ But don’t any escape ? ” said Andros. 

“Not many from the Jersey. A few got away 
from the Whitby and Good Hope, but that has 
made the British more watchful. Nine sea-captains 
and two privates on the Good Hope made a rush 
one night, and disarmed the guard and made off in 
a yawl. They were fired upon, but escaped in the 
darkness. Fifteen got away on the ice last winter; 
and then others tried it, but they couldn’t stand 
the cold and were caught. One poor fellow was 
frozen to death before they could bring him back 
to the prison. A few others have gone, but not 
many.” 

All night long Andros could not sleep. It 
seemed to him that he was in torment ; and the 


AN ESCAPE FROM THE PRISON-SHIP 23 

hopelessness of his companion’s words was upper- 
most in his mind. He knew the Jersey was guarded 
by a captain, two mates, a cook, and a crew of a 
dozen sailors ; and that in addition there were 
twelve old marines and thirty soldiers on board. 

At daybreak the hatches were opened ; and he 
heard the call, Rebels, turn out your dead ! ” 

The dead were selected from the living, each 
corpse was sewed in a blanket, and carried to the 
shore under a guard, and buried in a shallow grave. 
Andros, being one of the latest prisoners and pre- 
sumably stronger, was selected as one of the men 
to assist in this sad duty ; and he returned to the 
ship with his heart bitter, and resolved to escape 
or perish. To remain there was impossible ! 

In messes of six the men received their food. 
Mouldy and wormy biscuit, darhaged pease, some 
condemned beef or pork, with possibly a little sour 
meal, were measured out to each man, and cooked 
in a huge copper kettle. Those who had a little 
money were able to purchase something in addition 
of an old woman who came on board each day. 

But Thomas Andros, with all his sufferings, did 
not lose heart. No one knew what he had in 
mind, but he was ever on the watch. He was 
faithful and obedient, and none were suspicious of 
him. Two or three times he thought his oppor- 
tunity had come, but he was prevented on each 


occasion. 


24 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

One night, just at dusk, he was sent ashore 
with a guard for water. They landed on the shore 
of Long Island. Several times Andros carried his 
bucket full of water from the spring to the barrels 
in the yawl. As he started on his fourth trip, the 
guard became careless. Andros glanced all about 
him, and suddenly decided that his time had come. 
With a spring he pushed the unsuspecting guard 
to the ground, and bounded swiftly towards the 
woods in the distance. 

In a moment the guard regained his feet, and 
fired at the fleeing preacher. Andros heard the 
bullet as it whistled past his head, but he did not 
falter. A shout brought the companions of the 
guard about him and the pursuit was begun. The 
prisoner knew he was too weak to run far or 
Tast, and soon crept under a clump of bushes. 
On swept the pursuers. Would they discover 
him ? 

One almost stepped upon his crouching body; 
but the darkness favored him, and he was still 
unseen. He waited until they had gone, and then, 
quickly arising, ran with all his strength away from 
his place of concealment. Stumbling and falling 
in his weakness, he yet kept on till he heard the 
sound of approaching footsteps. He looked about 
for bushes, but none were to be seen. His only 
chance was to hide behind a tree ; and, taking his 
stand there, he waited for the newcomer. If there 


AN ESCAPE FROH THE PRISON-SHIP 


25 


were more than one he knew he would be discov- 
ered. How his heart was beating ! Surely it 
would be heard if his pursuers came near. There, 
he could see the man now, and he was coming 
directly toward the tree ! But there was only one. 
Should he step forth and meet him ? 

He quickly decided, that, as the man was armed 
and could summon aid, such a course would be 
liseless, and his weakness would avail little against 
these well-kept men. No ; his only course lay in 
concealment, and he waited for the man to approach. 
Nearer and nearer he came, and Andros slowly 
circled the tree. The guard drew near enough 
for him to have touched his arm ; but he did not 
know how close the prisoner was, and passed on. 

For a half-hour Andros waited, not daring to 
move. The only sounds he heard were the calls of 
the night birds and the whisperings of the wind. 
But he must not remain there ; and, summoning all 
his strength, he again started on. But suppose he 
should lose his way ? He did not know anything 
of the region except that it abounded in Tories ; 
but on he must go. In a brief time he came to a 
highway ; and choosing, as he thought, the direc- 
tion that led eastward, he began to run. 

Hark ! what was that ? A horseman was ap- 
proaching. Had they aroused the neighborhood ? 
He must take no chances ; and he threw himself 
on the ground, and tried to conceal himself in the 


26 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

high grass. The horseman was near now, and was 
whistling as he came. 

Suddenly the horse snorted and jumped aside. 
The rider, taken unawares, was thrown from his 
back. With an oath he leaped to his feet, and 
caught the horse, which had not run far. “What 
frightened you, Gypsy ” said the man. “You 
started as though you had seen a Whig. Don’t 
you know the difference between a man and a log 
yet } But I’ll see what it was,” and he began to 
search along the roadside. 

“ Surely,” thought Andros, “ now I shall be 
found ; ” but in a few minutes the man abandoned 
his search, and, quickly remounting, rode away. 

Again Andros arose, and pushed forward in the 
darkness. He must not delay now. All night 
the wretched prisoner kept on, now running, and 
now compelled to stop from exhaustion. The next 
day he rested until afternoon, but he was almost 
famished. Food he must have, and at last he 
approached a house by the roadside. His knock 
was answered, and he entered. A man, evidently 
a tailor, was working at a table, and near him was 
his wife. 

“ I am almost starving, my good woman. Will 
you feed me.?” 

A bowl of bread and milk was placed before 
him, and the preacher ate as only a famished man 
can. He did not look up until the bowl was 


AN ESCAPE FROM THE PRISON-SHIP 2/ 

empty, and then he. discovered that the man was 
gone. 

Here, take this,” said the woman, placing an 
apple-pie in his hands. “ I don’t want to know who 
you are. Don’t tell me; but don’t stay here.” 

His strength somewhat restored now, Andros 
needed no second bidding, and ran up the road. 
He soon came to a clump of trees, and resolved to 
hide and wait for a time there ; and it was well 
that he did, for in a few moments two men on 
horseback approached, and halted near enough for 
him to hear their words. His heart sank as he 
recognized the tailor as one of the men. 

I’m sure he was an escaping prisoner,” said 
the tailor; ‘^and he started up this way.” 

‘‘We’ll soon overtake him, then,” replied his 
companion ; and they started up the road. 

“ I’ll wait till they come back,” thought Andros ; 
but as they did not come when the darkness fell, 
he resumed his flight. His apple^ie served till 
the next day, and then he knew he must try again. 
He approached a respectable-looking house, and a 
woman met him at the door. She listened to his 
request for food, and then said, “ Get out, or I’ll 
set the dog on you. Maybe you’re the man that 
escaped from the Jersey I’ve heard about. Here, 
Maje ! ” she called to the dog. 

Andros turned and ran, with the dog swiftly 
pursuing. He stopped when he found he could 


28 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

run no farther, and with all his strength flung a 
stone. The dog howled, and with drooping tail 
turned and ran down the road. 

On and on went Andros, spurred now by the 
knowledge that his escape was known. For an 
hour he ran, but could go no farther. “ I’ll try 
once more,” he said, and approached a house in 
which he could see a light. 

In response to his request he was admitted ; and 
a benevolent-looking old lady, without a word, 
placed food before him. A bowl of bread and 
milk, a dried bluefish roasted, and a mug of cider 
soon disappeared. Bedtime came. The old man 
took his Bible and read aloud, and then all stood 
up while he prayed. “ I’ll tell them,” thought 
Andros ; and then he told his story. A flood of 
tears was the answer of the old lady ; and then she 
said, “ Husband, let us bake his clothes.” 

The old man threw fresh wood on the fire, and 
his wife wrapped the prisoner in blankets, and 
placed his filthy clothing in the huge oven. Soon 
the feeble man was asleep in a clean bed, and rest- 
ing like a tired babe. 

Nothing would do the next day but for the old 
man to carry Andros on his journey ; and when 
at last he arrived at Sag Harbor he found friends 
who carried him across the Sound, and at last he 
made his way to his home in Berkley. 

“ O Thomas ! where have you been ? ” said his 


AN ESCAPE FROM THE PRISON-SHIP 


29 


wife, with a wild cry, as the tottering man stood 
before her. 

“ I’ve been in hell,” answered Andros, as he fell 
in a swoon. 

For many long weeks they nursed him through 
the fever that followed, not knowing that the 
name he had given the Jersey had clung to her, 
and that among the colonies she never ceased to 
be so called. 

Thomas Andros recovered, but for years the 
story of his escape was a thrilling tale in the new 
nation. 


30 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


IV 

COLONEL ROBERT COCHRAN THE SPY 

Robert Cochran was a spy from the American 
army, and was returning from a visit in Canada, 
whither his superiors had sent him. His object 
had been attained ; and now, if he could success- 
fully cover the few miles that yet lay between him 
and his own country, he would be safe. But he 
had been startled, when he had approached the tav- 
ern in the settlement he had just left, to see posted 
upon the door an accurate description of himself, 
and an offer of a reward of fifty guineas for his 
capture. 

There was no more ardent patriot in all the colo- 
nies than Robert Cochran. Already he had won 
a colonel’s commission, and at the time of Bur- 
goyne’s invasion had taken an active part. At the 
head of two hundred militiamen he had held Fort 
Edward against the British, and had so won' the 
confidence of all that he had been chosen for this 
dangerous visit to Canada, from which he was now 
returning. 

It had been a long time since he had tasted 


COLONEL ROBERT COCHRAN THE SPY 3 1 

food, and he was feeling almost famished and very 
weak. How he did wish those twenty-five miles 
yet to be covered lay behind him. He knew that 
the offer of a reward for his capture had increased 
his danger, and he was certain his greatest peril 
was yet to be faced. But hungry and tired as he 
was, he started resolutely onward, assured that the 
forest would afford him a hiding-place if one should 
be needed, and he was fearful that at any moment 
it might be. 

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the 
clatter of a horse’s hoofs. Some one was approach- 
ing, but before the spy could find a shelter he saw 
that the stranger had seen him. To attempt to 
conceal himself now would only increase his dan- 
ger ; so putting on a bold face, he started resolutely 
forward. The horseman glanced keenly at him as 
he passed, but did not speak, and soon disappeared. 
That danger was passed, and there was one less 
to be faced ; for every stranger might suspect him 
now, and the weary Robert somehow felt that every 
one must be as interested in that notice on the 
tavern door as he himself was. 

He soon came to a little clearing. On the far- 
ther side was a log house, and behind it were two 
rude barns. The stumps 'of the fallen trees and 
piles of brush lay all about, and the picture before 
him was as desolate and forlorn as was the inner 
man of Colonel Robert. 


32 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

But he had little time to consider the scenery, 
for again he had caught the sound of horsemen be- 
hind him. Perhaps it was the man he had met a 
little before. No, there were more than one. He 
might be returning with others, and searching for 
the spy. 

“ Fifty guineas are worth saving,” said Cochran, 
smiling grimly, and looking about for a place of 
concealment. It was too far to return to the for- 
est, for he would be seen before he could gain its 
shelter. He might hide behind one of the stumps, 
but he feared he would be discovered there. Run- 
ning swiftly, he tore apart one of the heaps of 
brush, and had just covered himself, when, peer- 
ing between the branches, he saw three men on 
horseback, accompanied by a dog, come forth from 
the forest. The horses were walking now, and the 
dog was close behind. Cochran could see that the 
men were talking eagerly, but he could not hear 
their words. 

Suddenly the dog stopped. “ He’ll track me, 
and I’m lost,” thought the spy ; and in a moment 
the dog was before the brush-heap, barking furi- 
ously. But the men gave no heed to him, for they 
were too busy to pay any attention to a dog which 
would dig out every woodchuck along the roadside. 
Cochran held his knife in readiness ; and when the 
men had passed, with a sudden lunge he drove 
it into the dog’s side. Poor fellow.” he said. 


COLONEL ROBERT COCHRAN THE SPY 33 

"you’re not to blame, but you’ll never hunt wood- 
chucks again, nor spies either.” 

But the strangers had gone on to the door of 
the house, and then dismounted. One took the 
horses to the barn, and the others entered the 
house. 

" Maybe that’s their home,” thought Cockran. 
" If it is, it means I shall have to stay here till 
dark. Well, I’ve been in worse places ; ” and he 
tried to resign himself to the long waiting. 

A half-hour had barely passed before a change 
came over the sky. Rugged man that he was, not 
even his body could endure the strain to which it 
had been subjected, and he began to feel ill. He 
was trembling as in an ague. Everything appeared 
to be turning swiftly around. Violent pains seized 
him, and wrung from him groans which any passer- 
by might have heard. 

For another half-hour he endured his suffering, 
and then crawled feebly from his hiding-place. 
Help he must have, and the only place to seek it 
was in the log house. He knew the men were 
yet there, but perhaps they would not suspect him 
after all. Indeed, he did not believe his own wife 
or daughter would have recognized him as he then 
was; but however that might be, he struggled on 
until he was near the house. Through the open 
window he could hear the voices of the people 
within. 


34 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

111 as he was, he suddenly stopped. What was 
that he heard.? Surely not his own name.? Yes, 
there it was again, “Colonel Cochran.” Almost 
in despair, he sank to the ground ; but he was so 
near the window that he still could hear the con- 
versation, and it was all about himself. “ We’ll 
get him and the fifty guineas too,” said one of the 
men. “We met Tom Clark up the road, and he 
said he saw just such an ill-looking vagabond as 
this Cochran coming this way. I’m sure ’twas the 
spy. As soon as we’ve had our dinner, we’ll start 
out again.” 

“Well, dinner’s ready now,” he heard a woman 
say. “ Draw up your chairs.” 

The sounds that followed left no doubt in Coch- 
ran’s mind that her invitation was heeded. But 
what was to become of him .? There he was, the 
very spy they were seeking, and within a few yards 
of them. If one of them should come to the door, 
he surely would be seen. He must attempt some- 
thing. 

He thought of the barn, and began to drag him- 
self slowly towards it. With many struggles and 
groans he kept on, till at last he managed to open 
the door. The three waiting horses greeted him 
with a whinny. He could not hide there, for the 
men would soon come. But neither could he drag 
himself to the other barn. He must try some- 
thing where he was. He noticed the low hayloft, 


COLONEL ROBERT COCHRAN — THE SPY 35 

and the rude, short ladder which led to it. Up 
this he slowly dragged himself ; and just as he had 
succeeded in covering himself with the hay, leav- 
ing only space enough for him to peer through, his 
heart sank again, for he saw the men come forth 
from the house, and start towards the barn. 

They quickly took the horses, and, leaving the 
door unfastened, leaped upon their backs, and soon 
disappeared up the road. But freed from that 
immediate danger. Colonel Cochran had more time 
to think of himself, and his thoughts were not 
at all satisfactory. His sufferings increased every 
moment ; and when an hour had gone, it seemed 
to him that if he remained where he was he would 
surely die. He must do something, and, forming 
a quick resolution, he crept forth from under the 
hay, and began to descend the ladder. 

Several times he almost fell, and managed to re- 
tain his position only by grasping the rounds, and 
waiting for the barn, which seemed to whirl and 
toss before him like an angry sea, to become still. 
Twice in the short distance to the house he was 
compelled to lie down, and once consciousness left 
him. But at last, after what seemed a struggle of 
many hours, he stood before the kitchen door, and 
feebly rapped. 

His call was not heeded ; and he had to repeat 
it before the door was opened, and the woman, 
whose voice he had heard, stood before him. In 


36 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

his desperation he did not hesitate ; and, as he 
spoke, he was rejoiced to see her face soften, and 
her eyes fill with tears. 

“ Woman,” said the colonel, “ I’m a sick man, 
and I don’t know but I’m going to die. I’m the 
spy, Robert Cochran, I heard the men talking about 
in this house, but I’m a man, and I’ve a wife and 
daughter across the border ; and if you have any 
compassion for your own sex or for the suffering, 
I beg of you to aid me.” 

Dame McDonald was a prompt woman, and her 
quick decision did not fail her now. “ Poor man I 
Of course I’ll shelter you ; ” and she assisted the 
trembling and almost fainting spy to enter. Nor 
was that all ; for she immediately prepared some 
gruel, which she insisted that the famished man 
should eat. Restored by the food and the simple 
remedies his hostess quickly prepared, the colonel 
soon began to feel better. 

“Now you must have a good rest. That’s what 
you need more than any medicine. You must take 
a good nap ; ” and she assisted the spy to the bed, 
which was in the general living-room of the house. 

When a house contains but three rooms, all the 
space has to be utilized. What a relief was that 
to the worn Robert when he found himself stretched 
upon the bed. Never had one been more grateful, 
and hope revived ; for with the tender care of the 
good woman and a sleep of an hour or two, he was 


COLONEL ROBERT COCHRAN — THE SPY 37 

positive that soon he could renew his journey, and 
the border was not very far distant. 

He had just fallen into a heavy slumber when 
he was aroused by the words of his hostess : “ Man, 
wake up! You must get up right away! My hus- 
band and the men are coming back. I can see 
them down the road; and if they find you here, 
there’ll be no escape for you.” 

Robert was awake in a moment, but so dazed 
that he hardly could grasp the meaning of the 
woman’s words. 

‘‘ You can’t leave the house,” she quickly added, 
“for they’ll see you. You must hide in this cup- 
board ; ” and following her advice, he soon concealed 
himself in the farther end of the “cupboard,” be- 
hind some garments that hung upon the pegs in 
the side walls. He hardly had done this before 
the men entered the room. 

“ What luck, Richard ? ” inquired the woman. 

“ No luck at all, so far,” replied her husband. 
“ We couldn’t find any trace of him. If we’d had 
the dog along we might have done better, but I 
don’t know what’s become of him.” 

The spy smiled as he heard the words, for he 
knew the dog would never go with his master 
again. He hoped his body would not be discov- 
ered soon. A discovery might be unpleasant just 
then. 

“We’ll find him though, and then just think 


38 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

what the fifty guineas will do, Sarah. My, it’ll 
make us all rich ! But I want my other powder- 
horn, and then we’ll start on again. It’s in this 
cupboard.” 

“I’ll get it for you,” said his wife quickly. “ A 
man never can find anything.” 

“ Can’t, eh ? Well, I’ll find that. ^ I know where 
I left it,” and he entered the “ cupboard ” as he 
spoke. 

The trembling spy crouched lower. It seemed 
to him that his very breathing must be heard as 
the man went slowly from one peg to another, 
feeling for the string of his powder-horn. The 
little room was dim, however, and the unsuspecting 
man was intent only upon his search. 

“ Here, let me get it,” said his wife a moment 
later, and she stepped inside. Some instinct must 
have aided her, for her hand at once fell upon the 
missing horn, and, bringing it into the room she 
said, “ There, didn’t I tell you so ? A man never 
can find anything.” 

All the men laughed, and soon, with many ex- 
pressions of their confidence in their ability to find 
the spy, took their horses and left the place. 

“ That’ll never do,” said Mistress McDonald, as 
Cochran came into the room. “You escaped this 
time, but you’ll not do it again. But never mind,” 
she added, as she noticed the pallor on his face, 
“ we’ll fix it all right. There’s a little sugar-house 


COLONEL ROBERT COCHRAN — THE SPY 39 

out beyond the clearing. They’ll never think of 
looking there in the summer-time. You go there, 
and I’ll look after you for a spell. You’ll get away 
all right. I’m not the woman to care more for a 
little gold than I do for a suffering mortal ; ” and, 
grasping the feeble man by the shoulder, the strong 
and resolute woman aided him to. the sugar-house 
in the forest. She brought blankets from the house, 
and made him a comfortable bed, and for five days 
fed and watched over him. 

The men did not give up their search, but, like 
many other people, looked for success far from 
home ; and as a consequence the spy was undis- 
covered, and rapidly regained his strength under 
the care of his tender-hearted nurse. 

When five days had passed he felt that he was 
strong enough to resume his journey. “ I’ll never 
forget you,” he said, as he bade the noble woman 
good-by. 

All night he continued on his way, and, hiding 
by day, on the second night crossed the border, 
and found himself safe within his own lines. 

And did he ever see Mistress McDonald again ? 
Yes. Several years after the war was ended. Col- 
onel Cochran, loved and respected by all, was liv- 
ing at Ticonderoga. One summer afternoon, as 
he sat on the broad piazza in front of his home, he 
saw a wagon with a man and woman in it stop, 
and the man leap out to let his horse drink at 


40 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

the trough the colonel had provided by the road- 
side. 

The colonel glanced carelessly at the strangers ; 
but as he noticed the woman, he suddenly started. 

“ Are you Mistress McDonald ? ” he said, as he 
approached the wagon. 

“Yes, that is my name,” replied the woman, 
evidently not recognizing him. 

“Well, I’m Colonel Robert Cochran, the spy 
whom your husband tried to capture. You couldn’t 
take him, but your wife did,” he said to the man 
who was staring blankly at him. “You wait here 
a minute.” 

The colonel ran into the house, and soon re- 
turned, bringing a little leather bag in his hand. 
“ The poster up in Canada said* my head was worth 
fifty guineas. Well, it was worth as much as that 
to me ; and for years I have kept this money to 
give to this noble woman, who captured me when 
the men couldn’t.” 

When an hour later Mistress McDonald rode 
away with her husband, as the colonel watched them 
as far as he could see them down the road, he 
could not determine whether she was informing her 
husband of the part she had taken in the escape 
of the spy or not, and indeed it is not known to this 
day. 

As for Colonel Cochran, he lived to be a man 
eighty-four years of age, and died just at the break- 


COLONEL ROBERT COCHRAN — THE SPY 4I 

ing out of the war of 1812. His body was buried 
within a few feet of the spot where the remains of 
poor Jane McCrea lay ; and almost together the 
plain headstones have stood to record the deeds 
and lives of two of the sharers in the great struggle 
of our fathers. 


42 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


V 

SARATOGA SONG 

Our fathers were very fond of ballads and war- 
songs. These “ poems ” appeared in many of the 
papers, and were learned and sung by the soldiers 
when they entered upon a battle, or chanted by 
them if they were so fortunate as to win the 
day. 

This “ poem,” or song, was very popular during 
the closing years of the Revolution, and had sev- 
eral titles, among them being ‘‘A Song for the 
Red Coats,” “ North Campaign,” and “ Gates’ 
Song.” It is given here not because of any lite- 
rary merit, but to show the feelings of the people 
at the time, and the manner in which they ex- 
pressed them. The author is unknown. 

Come unto me, ye heroes 
Whose hearts are true and bold. 

Who value more your honor 
Than others do their gold ; 

Give ear unto my story, 

And I the truth will tell. 

Concerning many a soldier 
Who for his country fell. 


SARATOGA SONG 


Buigoyne, the king’s commander, 
From Canada set sail ; 

With full eight thousand regulars, 

He thought he could not fail ; 
With Indians and Canadians, 

And his cursed Tory crew. 

On board his fleet of shipping 
He up the Champlain flew. 

Before Ticonderoga, 

The first day of July, 

Appeared his ships and army. 

And we did them espy. 

Their motions we observed. 

Full well both night and day. 

And our brave boys prepared 
To have a bloody fray. 

Our garrison, they viewed them. 

And straight their troops did land ; 
And when St. Clair, our chieftain. 
The fact did understand. 

That they the Mount Defiance 
Were bent to fortify. 

He found we must surrender, 

Or else prepare to die. 

The fifth day of July, then. 

He ordered a retreat ; 

And when next morn we started, 
Burgoyne thought we were beat. 
And closely he pursued us. 

Till when near Hubbardton, 

Our rear guards were defeated, 

He thought the country won. 

And when ’twas told in Congress 
That we our forts had left, 


44 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


To Albany retreated 
Of all the North bereft, 

Brave General Gates they sent us, 
Our fortunes to retrieve. 

And him, with shouts of gladness. 
The army did receive. 

Where first the Mohawk’s waters 
Do in the sunshine play, 

For Herkimer’s brave soldiers 
Sellinger ambushed lay ; 

And them he there defeated. 

But soon he had his due. 

And scared by Brooks and Arnold, 
He to the north withdrew. 

To take the stores and cattle 
That we had gathered then, 
Burgoyne sent a detachment 
Of fifteen hundred men ; 

By Baum they were commanded. 

To Bennington they went ; 

To plunder and to murder 
Was fully their intent. 

But little did they know then 
With whom they had to deal ; 

It was not quite so easy 

Our stores and stocks to steal. 
Bold Stark would give them only 
A portion of his lead ; 

With half his crew, ere sunset, 
Baum lay among the dead. 

The nineteenth of September, 

The morning cool and clear. 

Brave Gates rode through our army. 
Each soldier’s heart to cheer ; 



“And Him with Shouts of ( Gladness 

RECEIVE.” 


THE 


Army did 

Page 44 




SARATOGA SONG 


' 45 


“ Burgoyne,” he cried, “ advances, 
But we will never fly ; 

No — rather than surrender, 

We’ll fight him till we die.” 

The news was quickly brought us, 
The enemy was near. 

And all along our lines then. 

There was no sign of fear ; 

It was above Stillwater 
We met at noon that day, 

And every one expected 
To see a bloody fray. 

Six hours the battle lasted. 

Each heart as true as gold. 

The British fought like lions, 

And we like Yankees bold; 

The leaves with blood were crimson. 
And then did brave Gates cry, 

“ ’Tis diamond now cut diamond! 
We’ll beat them, boys, or die.” 


The darkness soon approaching. 

It forced us to retreat 
Into our lines till morning. 

Which made them think us beat ; 
But ere the sun was risen 
They saw before their eyes 
Us ready to engage them. 

Which did them much surprise. 

Of fighting they seem weary. 
Therefore to work they go. 

Their thousand dead to bury, 

And breastworks up to throw ; 


46 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


With grape and bombs intending 
Our army to destroy, 

Or from our works our forces 
By stratagem decoy. 

The seventh day of October 
The British tried again, 

Shells from their cannon throwing 
Which fell on us like rain ; 

To drive us from our stations. 

That they might thus retreat ; 

For now Burgoyne saw plainly, 

He never could us beat. 

But vain was his endeavor. 

Our men to terrify ; 

Though death was all around us, 

Not one of us would fly. 

But when an hour we’d fought them. 
And they began to yield. 

Along our lines the cry ran, 

“The next blow wins the field !“ 


Great God who guides their battles 
Whose cause is just and true. 
Inspired our bold commander 
The course he should pursue ! 

He ordered Arnold forward. 

And Brooks to follow on ; 

The enemy was routed ! 

Our liberty was won ! 


Then, burning all their luggage. 
They fled with haste and fear, 
Burgoyne with all his forces. 

To Saratogue did steer ; 


SARATOGA SONG 


47 


And Gates, our brave commander, 
Soon after him did hie, 

Resolving he would take them, 

Or in the effort die. 

As we came nigh the village 
We overtook the foe ; 

They’d burned each house to ashes. 
Like all where’er they go. 

The seventeenth of October 
They did capitulate, 

Burgoyne and his proud army. 

Did we our prisoners make. 

Now here’s a health to Arnold, 

And our commander Gates, 

To Lincoln and to Washington, 
Whom every Tory hates ; 

Likewise unto our Congress, 

God grant it long to reign ; 

Our Country, Right, and Justice 
Forever to maintain. 

Now finished is my story. 

My song is at an end ; 

The freedom we’re enjoying 
We’re ready to defend ; 

For while our cause is righteous. 
Heaven nerves the soldier’s arm. 

And vain is their endeavor 
Who strive to do us harm. 


48 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


VI 

FIGHTING THE BRITISH WITH BEES 

“The redcoats are coming! I can hear their 
bugles down the road.” 

Young John Clarke ran towards his home shout- 
ing these words one morning in August, 1780. 
Although he was but fifteen years of age, he had 
been for several weeks the sole protector of his 
mother and sisters ; for his father and brothers 
were in the Continental army with Sumter, and 
had had a share in the capture of the redoubt at 
Wateree Ford, and of the forty-four supply wag- 
ons which had been sent from Ninety-Six. But 
Cornwallis and Tarleton were sharp in their pur- 
suit, and all the friends of the colonies were 
alarmed, as well they might be. 

John Clarke was returning from the woods 
whither he had led the one lean cow that remained 
of all the stock on the farm ; for Tarleton’s men 
had raided it of all else. Difficult as it was to 
provide something to eat, the constant fear of 
assaults by the British was even worse, and this 
morning all his fears seemed to be realized when 
he heard the bugles in the road. 


FIGHTING THE BRITISH WITH BEES 


49 


Perhaps they won’t come here,” said his 
mother. “ It’s fortunate our house is so far from 
the road.” 

John shook his head. He knew from the tone 
of his mother’s voice that she was fearful, and he 
watched her as she busied herself in hiding the 
few valuables which yet remained. He soon went 
out to the piazza, and, standing by one of the low 
posts, kept his eyes on the place where the British 
would first appear. 

There was nothing in all the landscape, how- 
ever, to indicate the presence of danger. The 
leaves upon the trees were motionless, and the 
glare of the August sun was over all. The lo- 
custs were busy, and he could see the bees as 
they went in and out of the row of hives that 
stood by one side of the lane that led from the 
house to the road. It was an ideal summer day; 
but John’s observations were suddenly interrupted' 
by the blasts of buglers, and the approaching men 
swept into sight around the bend in the road. 

‘‘ There must be fifty of them,” said John. 
“About half of them are redcoats and half are 
Tories,” he' added, as he saw that only a portion 
were clad in the British uniform. 

He was not left long in doubt as to their inten- 
tions, however ; for, after halting a moment by the 
entrance to the lane, the entire body swerved from 
their course, and started towards the house. 


50 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


‘‘They’re coming up the lane, mother,” he said, 
as he entered the room. “We’ll have to act as if 
we’re not afraid, if we are so frightened that we 
don’t know our names.” 

His mother smiled, but John noticed that she 
was very pale. But she was a resolute woman, 
and already had had experience with the British 
officers, as many of the South Carolina mothers 
had. 

“ We’ll do our best,” she said as she sent the 
girls up-stairs, and took her place beside John on 
the piazza, to await the approach of the soldiers. 
They all were mounted, and the horses plainly had 
been ridden hard. The leader called a halt as his 
troops drew near the house ; and, leaping to the 
ground, he took off his hat, and, bowing low, ad- 
vanced to speak to Mrs. Clarke. 

“ Have I the pleasure of addressing Mistress 
Clarke > ” 

“ Yes, sir,” she replied, waiting for him to de- 
clare his errand. 

“ I have no doubt, madam, that you are loyal to 
your king.” 

“ I had a king once, but I have none now. Per- 
haps you will better know my feelings when I tell 
you that my husband and two of my sons are now 
with Sumter.” 

“Doubtless I shall soon have the pleasure of 
making their acquaintance,” replied the soldier 



“Have I the Pleasure of Addressing Mistress 
Clark ? ” 


Page 50 



FIGHTING THE BRITISH WITH BEES 


5 


with a sneer. Indeed, we are bound upon that 
errand now. But, meanwhile, we are in need of 
supplies, and, in spite of your feelings, must search 
your place.” 

“ I hear you need supplies,” replied the un- 
daunted woman, ‘‘for it is reported that some 
forty of your wagons are in the hands of the 
patriots.” 

The soldier’s face took on a scowl as he replied, 
“ Unfortunately they are ; but mark my words, my 
good woman, the rebels won’t eat much. They’ll 
soon lose their appetites. But meanwhile I must 
see what can be had here.” 

“Your men have stolen everything already, and 
you’ll not find anything.” 

But the soldier made no reply, and with three 
of his followers began to search the house. Others 
were sent to the barn, and for a few minutes nothing 
was said by John or his mother. But the lad was 
not one to give up idly, although fifty redcoats 
were near. Suddenly his face lighted up. He 
had thought of a plan by which he might over- 
come these invaders of the home, but he said nothing 
to his mother of the project in his mind. 

“ We are not able to find anything here, but I 
doubt not you have something of use to us con- 
cealed somewhere,” said the leader. 

“ So we have,” spoke up John quickly. “ We 
have one poor lean cow left ; but she’s out in the 
woods, and you can’t get her.” 


52 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

“But you can, you young rebel!” replied the 
soldier angrily. “ One cow isn’t much, but it’s 
better than nothing. You drive her in, and be 
quick about it.” 

John started obediently, apparently disregarding 
the reproachful looks of his mother. “ Children 
and fools always speak the truth, madam,” said the 
leader as John left the house. “Here! here!” 
he called out as he ran to the piazza. “ You take 
one of the horses. It’ll save time, and we have no 
more of that than we have of supplies.” 

John’s heart leaped at the words. If he had 
contrived the plan himself he could not have been 
suited better. He started quickly for one of the 
horses, which had been tied to the rail fence, and 
leaped upon its back. 

“That’s all right,” called out the leader to some 
of his men who were about to intercept John ; 
“he’s going on an errand for me.” 

Assured by his words, John slowly walked his 
horse past the men, most of whom were still 
mounted, and impatiently awaiting the coming of 
their leader. As the lad passed the row of bee- 
hives he leaned from his horse and quickly lifted 
one of the boxes to his shoulder. It was but the 
work of a minute to tear off the cover, and then 
he struck his horse on the neck and started him 
into a swift run. 

Meanwhile the furious bees were not idle. They 


FIGHTING THE BRITISH WITH BEES 


53 


poured forth in a stream from their broken home, 
ready to visit their vengeance upon their enemies. 
But he who had so rudely seized the hive was not 
the one to receive their stings, for he was going 
too swiftly for that. 

But right near them was this body of horsemen ; 
and doubtless they must be the ones to blame, and 
the angry bees swiftly started for them. Few of the 
soldiers had noted the movements of John after he 
had passed them, and were therefore unaware* of 
the cause of the trouble that soon beset them. 

John glanced behind him as he passed out of 
the lane into the road. He had thrown aside the 
hive as soon as he was satisfied it was empty, 
and sped on his way. But it was a sight which 
he looked back upon that he never forgot. The 
horses were rearing, and plunging, and kicking out 
in every direction. Already many of the men had 
been thrown, and unable to discover the cause of 
the confusion were blaming one another, and some 
were using their fists upon their companions’ faces. 

Some of the riderless horses were running about 
the lane, and their riders were trying to catch 
them again ; but many stopped to clap their hands 
to their faces, and apparently forgot all about their 
steeds. Some of the men and horses already were 
disabled by the kicks which were so freely in- 
dulged in, and above all arose the cries and shouts 
of the soldiers in their confusion and fear. 


54 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

<‘It’s time for me to put out,” said John, as he 
saw the leader, astonished by the cries of his men 
and the scene before him, run quickly from the 
house and join his companions. The lad accord- 
ingly leaped from his horse’s back, struck him 
with a switch, and as he started back, he himself 
quickly sought the shelter of the woods by the 
roadside. 

In spite of his danger and fear he rolled over 
and over upon the ground in his glee, as he saw the 
troopers all sweep past him. He had won ; and 
soon returning to the house, he explained to his 
astonished mother and sisters what he had done. 

‘^You never saw such a sight in your life as 
those men were when they passed me. Some of 
them had their eyes closed by the stings, and 
some had such swollen lips they couldn’t do any- 
thing but swear. Yes, they swore like troopers 
and the boy laughed aloud as he spoke. 

“Then some of them had noses swelled to the 
size of powder-horns, and some were rubbing 
their broken shins, and blaming each other for all 
the trouble. But they’re all gone now, and it is 
the first time on record when the Continentals 
shot the redcoats with bees. I think I’ll have to 
tell General Washington about it, for it’s better 
than powder and balls.” 


THE MOTHER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON 55 


VII 

THE MOTHER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON 

If it be true that a man is born twenty genera- 
tions before his appearance in the world, then it 
naturally follows that the appreciation of a man’s 
ancestry is as necessary in understanding the man 
as is that of his own life and work ; and George 
Washington was accustomed to say that for every- 
thing he was, and had, and did, he was indebted 
to his mother. 

Martha Washington, who shared in his life, is 
a familiar character ; but Mary Washington, the 
mother, the source and inspiration of all that 
Martha shared in, is comparatively an unknown 
woman. Yet Washington was not accustomed to 
drop into poetry ; ” and when he declared that he 
owed so much to his mother, we may be sure that 
he was speaking in good, sober prose, and said 
what he meant, and meant what he said. 

HER PERSONAL APPEARANCE. 

Portrait painters were not numerous in the early 
days, and not a picture was left of the mother of 
Washington. She is described, however, as having 


$6 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

been of medium height, with a rounded, matronly 
figure, and having a clearly marked face, strong 
and firm, and which that of her son is said to have 
resembled. 

Indeed, there were those who said that her 
rugged features were more like those of a man 
than a woman ; but it is no cause for wonder if 
the young widow, left with the care of six children 
and a small estate, should have developed a firm- 
ness and decision of character which a woman 
carefully shielded and protected from contact with 
the world would never know. 

THE HOME LIFE. 

George was the eldest of six children ; and he was 
not quite twelve years of age when his father died, 
and Mary Washington was compelled to assume the 
duties of both father and mother. The family was 
dwelling near Fredericksburg at the time; for the 
birthplace of George had been destroyed by fire, and 
a new house had been built near the Rappahannock. 

The mother, intense in her love, kept her grief 
to herself, and aroused herself to the duty of car- 
ing for the living. And first of all she trained her 
children to obey. She was kind in her manner, but 
not demonstrative ; but behind it all lay the firm- 
ness and conviction that began now to manifest 
themselves. George in his home learned to obey, 
a lesson he later taught his soldiers and countrymen. 


THE MOTHER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON 5/ 

There was also a devout religious atmosphere 
in the home. Every day the mother retired to 
a secluded spot among the rocks and trees near 
her home to pray. Perhaps this custom of his 
mother’s may have had something to do with that 
now famous prayer of her son’s at Valley Forge. 
She was insistent upon works of charity, and in 
these trained her children to share. 

The style of living was almost severe in its 
simplicity. This was a part of her faith ; for in 
after years, when the problem of existence was 
happily solved, and she might have had a share 
in what was considered luxury for those times, 
she still maintained the quiet and simplicity of 
her early life. Strong, true, decided, Lafayette de- 
scribed her as being a mother who belonged to the 
type of earlier days, like the Spartan or the Roman, 
rather than to the women of her own times. And 
George’s half-brother Lawrence, for Mary Ball was 
the second wife of Augustine Washington, was ac- 
customed to say, even when he was a gray-headed 
old man, that in all his life he had never met a 
woman of whom he stood more in awe, or more 
deeply respected, than Mary Washington. 

NOT ALL SERIOUSNESS. 

With all her strong qualities, however, her chil- 
dren loved as well as respected her ; and there was 
no place to which the young people liked more 


58 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

to come than to her home. George, like most of 
the lads of his time, contracted a fever for the 
sea. He would be a sailor lad, and his brother 
Lawrence strengthened his hopes. 

For a long time the mother protested, but finally 
gave her consent, though much against her will. 
His luggage had been carried on board the vessel, 
when there came a letter from her brother in Eng- 
land strongly protesting against the boy being al- 
lowed to enter the British navy. Strengthened in 
her own conviction, she even then “put her foot 
down,” the permission was withdrawn, and George 
did not become a sailor, much to his mother s re- 
lief and the infinite profit of his country. 

George is said to have strongly resembled his 
younger sister Jane ; and it was a favorite prank 
of hers in later years, to wrap herself in a long 
military cloak, and donning a military hat, move 
about the town, receiving the salutions which the 
people in their innocence thought they were pay- 
ing to her illustrious brother. 

AS A BUSINESS WOMAN. 

The care of the estate was left her by her hus- 
band ; and, like the prudent woman that she was, 
she looked well to the ways of her household. In 
an old-fashioned open chaise she used to drive to 
her little farm near Fredericksburg. She rode 
about the fields, inspected the crops and buildings. 


THE MOTHER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON 59 

and insisted upon the men whom she employed 
doing exactly as she told them. 

It is recorded that one time one of her agents had 
ventured to follow his own judgment instead of her 
directions, and that she rebuked him sharply, saying, 
I command you. There is nothing left for you but 
to obey.” In the duties of the home and care of 
her lands the time passed, and at last her son was 
appointed commander-in-chief of the armies of the 
newly-born nation. Her love and counsels had aided 
him thus far, and now the son did not forget the 
mother. 

WHEN THE WAR BROKE OUT. 

Martha Washington could in a measure share in 
some of the camp experiences of her husband ; but 
Mary, the mother, must be kept in quiet places and 
in the seclusion more appropriate to her age. Near 
Fredericksburg, the general found a protected and 
secluded place for his mother, and from time to time 
her suspense was relieved by the messages he sent. 

One incident in particular is recalled. It was 
after the battle of Trenton, and the hearts of all 
the patriots had been stirred to fresh courage. 
The men who brought her word were loud in their 
praises of her son, and their praises we know were 
just ; but Mary Washington received the message 
calmly, although she did not attempt to conceal 
her pleasure, while she disclaimed all the plaudits 
of her son. She had always been sparing of her 
words of blame and praise alike. 


60 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

WHEN THE WAR ENDED. 

Again word was brought her after Cornwallis 
had surrendered at Yorktown, and the feelings of 
the mother were mingled with those of the true- 
hearted woman. She lifted her hands toward 
heaven, but without a tear, and speaking calmly, 
said, Thank God ! War will now be ended, and 
peace, independence, and happiness bless our coun- 
try ! ” Then the feelings of the mother came to 
the front, and she said, I am not surprised at 
what George has done, for he was always a very 
good boy.” What shall be said of a mother who, 
in her moment of grateful happiness and pride, 
could place the goodness of her son in advance of 
his greatness ? 

Washington’s return. 

Alone with his friend Lafayette, without horses 
or attendants, the great commander came back to 
his mother’s house. She, too, was alone, and yet 
busy in her old age in the simple duties of her 
housework. She was told that the hero of the 
times, the man whom all the country, and nearly 
all the countries, were then praising, was at the 
door. But whatever he was to others, he was still 
her boy ; and in a moment she had folded him in a 
warm embrace, such as she used to give him when 
as a little fellow he climbed into her lap. Again 
she called him by the fond names she had used in 


THE MOTHER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON 6l 


his childhood, and though she marked the furrows 
which his struggles had traced deep in his face, 
her every thought was of him, not of the name he 
had won ; and we are told that in that interview 
between mother and son she said not one word of 
the fame or glory he had won. 

She consented to attend the ball which was 
given by the people of the town in honor of the 
general. She dressed herself plainly, like the ordi- 
nary matron of Virginia, and simply and quietly 
entered the room leaning on the arm of her son. 
She did not long remain, however; for soon re- 
marking that * her dancing days were pretty well 
over,’ she left the room to the young people. 

As another example of her simplicity, it is re- 
lated that Lafayette went to see her before he 
returned to France in 1784, and when he ap- 
proached the house found the old lady clad in her 
ordinary garb, and with a plain straw hat on her 
gray head, working in the garden. She quietly 
acknowledged his greetings and his praises of her 
son, and as she led the way into the house remarked, 
can make you welcome without the parade of 
changing my dress.” 

THE LAST TIME WASHINGTON SAW HIS MOTHER. 

He had just been elected the first President of 
the United States ; but before he accepted the high 
office he went once more to see his mother, who 


62 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

was suffering at the time from an acute disease. 
The story of the interview is simple, and yet almost 
sublime. 

‘‘The people, madam,” said Washington, “have 
been pleased, with the most flattering unanimity, 
to elect me to the chief magistracy of the United 
States ; but before I can assume the functions of 
that office, I have come to bid you an affectionate 
farewell. So soon as the public business can be 
disposed of I shall hasten to Virginia, and ” — 

He could say no more ; but the mother, strong 
even in her weakness, replied, “You will see me 
no more. My great age and the disease that is 
rapidly approaching my vitals, warn me that I am 
not long for this world. I trust in God, I am some- 
what prepared for a better. But go, George, fulfil 
the high destinies which Heaven appears to assign 
you ; go, my son, and may Heaven’s and your 
mother’s blessing be with you always.” The lan- 
guage appears to us a trifle stilted ; but in that long 
and tender embrace which followed, all the world 
has a share. 

She had spoken truly. The son, who in tears 
left her, never again looked upon the face of the 
mother that bore him. Before he could return to 
Virginia, Mary Washington had passed away at the 
ripe age of eighty-five. A monument at Freder- 
icksburg marked the place where all that was mor- 
tal was laid away. 


THE BARON OF THE PINES 


63 


VIII 

THE BARON OF THE PINES 

James Wells was almost a mass of bruises. 
His eyes were discolored, patches were on his 
cheeks, and he was carrying one arm in a sling. 
And yet, bruised as he was, he was seated on a 
board thrown across the box of a lumber wagon, 
and, behind a smart team of horses, was driving 
through that portion of New Jersey which, a hun- 
dred and twenty years ago, was known as “The 
Pines.” 

On the seat beside him, in that morning late 
in June, 1778, was Sergeant Brown of the Conti- 
nental army, and both young men were glancing 
keenly about them as they rode on. 

Many invalids seek that same region to-day, and 
find in the soft air, tempered as it is by the breath 
of the pines and the salt of the sea, a tonic for 
tired nerves and worn bodies ; but neither Wells 
nor his companion was searching for anything of 
that kind. 

With them were two soldiers, but their presence 
could not easily have been detected. If, however. 


64 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

you had stirred the stra'w that covered the bottom 
of the wagon, you might have found them beneath 
it, and their muskets there also. A strange load ; 
and yet they had been carrying it since the pre- 
ceding day, when they had left the camp of Gen- 
eral Lee at Monmouth Court-House, and at the 
command of the general himself. 

“ It’s a desperate chase,” said the sergeant. 
“The chances are all against us.” 

“ Nay, not so,” replied his companion ; “ and if 
we succeed, just think of the good done.” 

“ You don’t look as though you could do much,” 
said the young soldier, with a sympathetic glance 
at his friend. 

“ I’m not the only man who has received the 
attentions of this outlaw. You see, I was on my 
way home from the mill with a load of meal. The 
first I knew, this Fenton and his gang were right 
in front of me in the road. I knew I couldn’t do 
anything, so I gave in at once. They thought I 
had some money ; but when they couldn’t find it, 
Fenton turned on me, and I thought my last hour 
had come. Oh, he’s a powerful man ! You know 
he was a blacksmith at Freehold before the war, 
and I presume his work made him all the stronger. 
I don’t know another man his equal anywhere.” 

“ But General Lee is going to put a stop to his 
tricks. That story of yours, and the one about 
his treatment of old man Farr up at Imlaystown, 


THE BARON OF THE PINES 6$ 

were too much. You know, I suppose, how he 
and his gang behaved there. The old man barri- 
caded the door, and kept the scoundrels back for 
a time ; but Fenton smashed a piece of the door, 
and broke the old man’s thigh. Finally they got 
into the house, and murdered the old man and his 
wife ; but his daughter, for all that she was fear- 
fully wounded, managed to get away.” 

Yes, I know about that ; but it’s only a sample 
of what’s been going on for two years.” 

“ I never saw General Lee so stirred,” said the 
sergeant, ‘*as he was by your story. And now 
that he’s sent us after this outlaw, we’ll hope the 
end has come, if we can only find him.” 

This, then, was the expedition on which our 
little party had been sent. No one can picture 
the sufferings of the Whigs of New Jersey during 
the early years of the Revolution. The British and 
Hessians pillaged and burned until every family 
lived in a state of constant terror. The people 
barred their windows and double-locked their doors 
at night, but even such precautions were frequently 
of no avail. 

But there were others besides the soldiers who 
were engaged in the vile work. In this region 
through which our party was passing, and which 
was known then as “The Pine Barrens,” six bands 
of outlaws had made their homes. They were des- 
perate men, and loyal to neither side, though the 


66 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Whigs were the chief sufferers at their hands. By 
night they started on their raids, and murder and 
fire almost always followed them. They had dug, 
or burrowed, under the sand-hills ; and there made 
their homes, and stored their plunder. 

The most desperate and feared of all these men 
were Fenton and his gang of twenty ruffians. Of 
late, in his recklessness, he had taken to himself 
the name of the “ Baron of the Pines.” Whether 
this was designed as a play upon the name of the 
region where he had his headquarters, The Pine 
Barrens,” I cannot say ; but the title he had as- 
sumed was now familiar to all, and whenever The 
Baron of the Pines” was mentioned, all knew that 
it referred to Fenton, the powerful outlaw black- 
smith of Freehold. 

Two or three days before this time he had fallen 
upon young James Wells, as he has already de- 
scribed, and had left him dead, as he thought, by 
the roadside ; but the young man had recovered, 
and made his way to the quarters of General Lee. 

There he had related his story ; and the general 
had promptly despatched our little party, with in- 
structions to shoot the outlaw at sight if they could 
not take him prisoner. The task was no slight one, 
as it was more than likely that they would not find 
Fenton alone; and if his comrades were with him, 
there was no doubt on which side the victory would 
fall. 


THE BARON OF THE PINES 


67 


The party had started promptly at General Lee’s 
command, with the soldiers concealed beneath the 
straw, and the sergeant and James Wells disguised 
as countrymen, and seated on a board placed across 
the rough wagon-box. 

They now had been among the pines several 
hours. Occasionally they passed a rude log hut, 
from which a crowd of filthy children would rush 
forth and greet them. But no signs of the baron ” 
or his men had appeared as yet. 

Both men were watchful ; but if either felt 
alarmed, he concealed his feeling from his com- 
panion. The only sounds that broke in upon the 
silence were the murmurings of the pines and the 
occasional roar of the ocean not far away. 

“ What’s that shanty ahead there ^ ” said the ser- 
geant at last, pointing to a low house of logs in 
the distance. 

“ I know the place,” replied his companion after 
a brief silence ; it’s a low groggery. I’ve been 
by it a good many times. We’ll be likely to hear 
something of Fenton there, I think.” 

The sergeant drew the reins a little more tightly, 
and whispered a warning word to the soldiers. Per- 
haps Fenton’s entire band might be near, or some 
of the followers of Fagan or Carter, barons” 
feared almost as much as Fenton himself. If so, 
the chances were desperate and the moment criti- 
cal ; but still there was no appearance of fear in the 


68 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

young sergeant’s manner. The horses were toiling 
through the heavy sand ; and as they drew near 
the house some one opened the door, and ap- 
proaching the road, stopped and waited for the 
wagon to come nearer. 

'‘That’s Fenton! That’s Fenton himself,” said 
Wells excitedly, in a low voice to his companion. 

The sergeant was undecided. Should he order 
the man to be shot without a word of warning 
He knew he would be justified in doing so ; but he 
did not know how many of his followers might be 
near, or what danger he might bring upon himself 
and his companions. 

" Hold on a bit I ” called out Fenton as they ap- 
proached. " Hold on, I say. I want to talk a bit 
with ye.” 

The sergeant halted, and curiously observed the 
“baron.” What a magnificent specimen of a man 
he was physically ! Tall and broad-shouldered, he 
looked the very embodiment of strength. His arms 
were bare, and the muscles stood out on them in 
great bunches. His flannel shirt was open at the 
throat, displaying the knotted muscles of his chest. 
“ Whew 1 ” said the sergeant to himself, “ if I met 
him on a street in a dark night. I’d give him all the 
road.” But he had no time for further reflection, 
as the “ baron ” at once entered into conversation. 

“ Where ye goin ’ } ” he growled. 

“ Oh, we’re driving through the pines,” 


THE BARON OF THE PINES 69 

** Oh, that’s it, is it ? Well, if I had my men with 
me ye wouldn’t drive very fur. Got any brandy 
with ye ? If ye have, hand it over. I want it bad.” 

The sergeant handed him a bottle he had brought, 
and the outlaw quickly lifted it to his lips. As he 
did so, his glance fell upon young Wells, and he at 
once recognized him. With an expression of rage 
on his face, he stopped and shouted, Oh, it’s you, 
is it ? I thought I left ye dead up on the road the 
other day. Ye must have as many lives as a cat, 
but I’ll take another of ’em now ; ” and he started 
for his gun, which he had leaned against the side 
of the house. 

The crisis had come. It was either their lives 
or the outlaw’s ; and with a quick word the sergeant 
called the waiting soldiers, who immediately arose 
from the straw and fired. 

With a yell which sounded in their ears for many 
days the outlaw fell. A groan, a struggle or two, 
and then he was still. The men quickly placed his 
body in the wagon, and started to return. There 
was no walking for the weary horses now. Every 
bush might conceal an outlaw. Every moment 
they fancied they could hear the sound of pursuers. 
But on and on they went, never halting for a mo- 
ment. The children rushed from the huts as they 
passed, and called and shouted, but received no re- 
sponse. On and on, till the border of the pines 
was reached, and even then they did not halt. Nor 


70 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

did they rest till at last the returning party was 
safe in the camp of General Lee. 

The Baron of the Pines was dead, and the Pine 
Barrens and the State of New Jersey at last had 
found relief. 



The Soldiers ruse from the Straw and fired. 

Pag'e 69 







THE HEROISM OF ELIZABETH ZANE 


n 


IX 

THE HEROISM OF ELIZABETH ZANE 

The name of Simon Girty is seldom heard 
in these days, when the memory of the stirring 
events in our later history is fresh in the minds of 
all ; but a hundred years ago it was well known 
throughout the sparsely settled region which ex- 
tended southward from Detroit and the lakes to 
the borders of Kentucky, and it was as hated as it 
was familiar. For Simon Girty was a man with- 
out a country, and almost without a friend. 

Perhaps if he had lived in our time a little char- 
ity might have been found for him, for we make 
so much of the good and evil which the fathers 
bequeath their children. Simon’s mother was as 
evil a woman as could be found in all Pennsylva- 
nia, and his father was known as a worthless sot. 
If they gave their son any good qualities they sel- 
dom were seen, while he appeared to have added 
much to the evil deeds of both his parents. 

At the time of Braddock’s defeat he had been 
captured, and adopted by the Seneca Indians into 
their tribe. The life among the savages was one 


72 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

to which he readily adjusted himself, and soon he 
became their acknowledged leader. He could de- 
vise more cruelty than they, and was far superior 
to them all in his ability to plan and execute 
attacks upon the scattered settlers. His love for 
his own kindred, if he ever had any, soon disap- 
peared ; and no Indian chief was so feared and 
hated as was Simon Girty. 

The little settlement at Fort Henry (Wheeling), 
on the 26th of September, 1777, was thoroughly 
familiar with his name and deeds ; but not one of 
the families dwelling in the twenty-five log huts 
that had been erected there had any thought 
on that day that he was near. Yet Simon Girty, 
with four hundred of his fiercest warriors, at that 
very time was stealthily making his way up the 
Ohio River, and was within a very few miles of 
the settlement. 

Colonel Sheppard, ' who was in command of 
Fort Henry, at sunset on that day had received 
word from some of his scouts that they had seen 
signs of the presence of Indians ; and he had 
quickly ordered every family to seek the shelter 
of the fort. Many protests were made against 
this order, and some of the men did not hesitate 
to declare that it was as uncalled for as it was 
unnecessary; but the colonel’s word was law and 
must be obeyed, and soon every man, woman, and 
child was within the walls. 


THE HEROISM OF ELIZABETH ZANE 


73 


The long night at last passed; but the inmates 
in the crowded rooms had little sleep, and all felt 
greatly relieved when the first faint light of the 
dawn appeared. Now they could return to their 
labors, and the over-cautious commander would 
find that his alarm had been unnecessary. 

But Colonel Sheppard was not yet satisfied, and 
would permit no one to leave the shelter of Fort 
Henry until he was certain that his scouts had 
been deceived ; and accordingly he ordered Cap- 
tain Mason to take a few men and go forth to 
reconnoitre. All the people in the fort stood 
watching the little band of men as they marched 
across the open space towards the borders of the 
forest. 

“You see,” said James Merrill, “it’s all a mis- 
take. The colonel has shut us up here like a bear 
in a trap, and will have his labor for his pains. It’s 
a good thing to be careful ; but to my mind he’s 
not only careful, but a little bit afraid.” 

“ I feel that way too,” replied Samuel Clarke. 
“My work is in such shape that I don’t want to 
leave it an hour.” 

But both men, in spite of their impatience, 
soon became silent, watching Captain Mason and 
his men. They were approaching the border of 
the clearing now, and as yet not a sign of danger 
had appeared. Indeed, the little settlement never 
had seemed more peaceful than on that morning. 


74 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Scarcely a breath of air was stirring, and the mist 
that had rolled up from the river below was rap- 
idly being burned away by the beams of the rising 
sun. The leaves were beginning to take on their 
autumnal tints, and the songs of the birds were 
the only sounds that broke in upon the stillness 
of that September morning. 

James Merrill had just turned to his friend, and 
was about to express his impatience once more, 
when in an instant the entire scene was changed. 
A yell that almost curdled the blood of every 
wateher in the fort broke forth from the border 
of the forest, and there was the quick discharge 
of many guns. 

For a moment every one in the fort seemed 
paralyzed with fear. The Indians had been lying 
in ambush, and their sudden attack had taken every 
one by surprise. The smoke of the rifles rolled 
out from among the trees like a cloud, hiding from 
the view of the watchers all that lay behind it. 
What had become of Captain Mason and his men 
Every eye was strained now to gain a glimpse of 
the brave little band. 

In a few moments the smoke had cleared suffi- 
ciently to enable those in the fort to see that half 
the number lay stretched upon the ground, and 
that the others were fighting desperately in a hand- 
to-hand eonflict, endeavoring to make their way 
back ; but the Indians were on every side of them, 


THE HEROISM OF ELIZABETH ZANE 


75 


and Simon Girty in his loudest tones was urging 
his followers to cut the white men down. 

Without hesitating a moment, Captain Ogle, 
with twelve men as brave as he, rushed from the 
fort to the assistance of their struggling compan- 
ions ; but the Indians had had time to reload now, 
and met the oncomers with another volley from 
their rifles. 

A groan arose from the inmat.es of Fort Henry 
when they saw all but four fall to the ground ; but 
the remnant of Captain Mason’s band had seized 
the moment when the attention of the savages 
had been diverted by the approach of their friends, 
and already were running rapidly cowards the fort. 
The other four at once turned and joined them, 
and, pursued by the shouting Indians, were also 
endeavoring to regain the shelter of the stockade. 
It was an exciting race, and the prize was far 
greater than that ever offered in any modern ath- 
letic contest, for it was life itself ; but it ended in 
all the runners gaining the shelter, and the gate 
was quickly shut in the faces of the howling 
Senecas. 

The conditions within the fort were now more 
serious than before. There were just twelve men 
and boys to defend the place, and the women and 
children were almost beside themselves with fear. 
Cries and sobs were heard on every side. Women 
were wringing their hands ; and their little children 


76 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

were clinging to their skirts, and adding their 
shrill cries to the general confusion. The num- 
ber of the Indians was almost forty times that of 
the little garrison within ; and the name and sight 
of Simon Girty, as he ran in advance of his howl- 
ing band of four hundred savages, had increased 
the alarm, and caused many a mother’s face to be- 
come deadly pale. 

But a silence soon came over the fort as the in- 
mates perceived that all outside was still. What 
could it mean ? They were all too well versed in 
Indian ways to believe that the end had come ; but 
what was the next move to be ? 

They were not left long in doubt ; for soon they 
saw Simon Girty advance alone, waving what once 
had been a white flag. 

“ Even his flag is almost as foul as he is,” mut- 
tered Samuel Clarke ; but his companion made no 
reply. He was too much interested in trying to 
hear what Girty would say and Colonel Sheppard 
would reply. 

I want the surrender of this fort ! ” shouted 
Girty. “ I’ve got more than four hundred Sene- 
cas here, and you can’t stand against ’em a 
minute ! ” 

We certainly couldn’t stand a minute if we did 
surrender,” replied the colonel. “We know you 
too well.” 

“ I’ll cut your heart out ! ” shouted Girty, angry 


THE HEROISM- OF ELIZABETH ZANE 


77 


at the delay. In after years he was as good as his 
word ; for he did cut out the heart of a captive, and 
sent pieces of it among the different tribes. 

“While there’s a man left alive, this fort will 
never be given over to such a scoundrel as you,” 
shouted Colonel Sheppard, “ nor to any other ras- 
cal either.” 

Simon Girty stood for a moment, and shook his 
fist at the fort. He was almost beside himself 
with rage ; but after he had shouted his threaten- 
ings, which made every mother that heard him 
clasp her little ones more closely to her bosom, the 
renegade turned sharply, and ordered his followers 
to begin the attack. 

The Indians quickly obeyed, and ran for the 
shelter of the log huts that stood all about the 
fort. For six long hours they poured an ineffec- 
tual fire against its walls, but as they had no artil- 
lery they did but little damage. Nor were the 
men within the fort idle. The sharpshooters were 
at work, and seldom fired in vain. The women 
were kept busy in casting bullets, and loading the 
rifles. 

About noon-time a change came. The Indians 
withdrew to the base of the hill, and the sounds of 
the rifles ceased. Some of the inmates rejoiced, 
believing that the attack had ceased ; but Colonel 
Sheppard shook his head. He had had too much 
experience, and knew that Girty’s men had only 


/8 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

withdrawn to devise new measures, and that soon 
some other movement would be made. 

But there was something else that greatly trou- 
bled him. The powder was almost gone, and with- 
out it but a sorry resistance could be made. But 
Ebenezer Zane told him of a keg he had in his 
house, which was about sixty yards from the fort. 
Who would go for it ? It might mean death ; for 
in the open space, whoever went would be exposed 
to the bullets from many rifles, and the chance of 
escaping was but slight indeed. No, he could not 
order any man to go ; and only one at a time in 
any event could be spared from the little garrison, 
too small already. 

“ Call the men together,” said Ebenezer at last, 
“and let us talk it over;” and acting upon his sug- 
gestion, the commander soon had assembled all the 
twelve, and explained to them the condition of the 
fort. The colonel declared that he should not or- 
der any one to go ; but if any one would volunteer, 
he might have the honor. It was almost certain to 
prove the death of him who should make the at- 
tempt, but some one must go. 

It is to the honor of mankind, although it sel- 
dom has been told, that eac/i one of the twelve men 
offered himself. Nor was that all ; for so eager 
was each man that he urged his own claim, declar- 
ing that his loss would mean less for the garrison 
than that of any other. 


THE HEROISM OF ELIZABETH ZANE 


79 


So warm did the discussion become among the 
little band of heroes, that the time passed, and the 
colonel began to fear that the Indians would renew 
the attack before any attempt to obtain the pow- 
der would be made. He was about to break up 
the assembly, and declare that the choice must be 
made by lot, when he was interrupted by the ap- 
proach of Elizabeth Zane, the younger sister of 
Ebenezer. 

** I have heard what you have been talking 
about,” said Elizabeth, ‘^and I have come to fur- 
nish a solution.” They all were listening now, and 
eager to hear what the brav^ young girl would 
propose. “The simple truth is that the fort can 
spare none of you. I am only a young maid ; and 
if I fall, the garrison will suffer but little loss. I 
myself will go for the powder.” 

The group was silent for a moment, and then 
Ebenezer spoke. “Elizabeth, you are just from 
school in Philadelphia. You know nothing of this 
border life. You cannot go.” 

“You have done enough already in casting bul- 
lets,” said her other brother, Silas. 

“ No, no ; you cannot go,” added the colonel, 
greatly moved. 

“ But I am going,” replied Elizabeth firmly. 
‘You have wasted too much time already.” 

All the men added their protests, but in vain ; 
and in a few minutes the gate was opened, and 


8o 


STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


young Elizabeth Zane started boldly across the 
open space towards the house of Ebenezer, her 
brother. The eyes of every one in the fort were 
upon her, nor were they the only ones that fol- 
lowed her. They could see many a dusky face 
peering out from the woods, and curiously watch- 
ing the young girl as she walked rapidly on ; but 
not a shot as yet had been fired. All the people 
in the fort breathed a sigh of relief as they saw 
her enter the house ; but the suspense increased 
when, a moment later, she stood in the doorway 
with the keg of powder tightly clasped in her 
arms. • 

“ Her hard time is coming now,” said Colonel 
Sheppard in a low voice to Ebenezer Zane ; but 
he received no reply. Ebenezer’s face was set and 
hard, and he did not hear the colonel’s words. All 
his thought was of his sister, and he was watching 
her every movement. 

Meanwhile, Elizabeth, gathering her skirts about 
her, and hugging the keg to her bosom, started on 
her return. She was running now, and her speed 
was almost like that of a deer. On and on she 
came ; but the savages had perceived her purpose 
as soon as they saw what she was carrying, and a 
yell arose in the forest. Rifle after rifle was fired 
at her, and yet the intrepid girl ran on. She was 
within twenty yards of the fort, when a groan was 
uttered by every one within. 


THE HEROISM OF ELIZABETH ZANE 8 1 

“ She’s hit ! She’s down ! ” cried the excited 
Ebenezer, as he saw his sister stumble and almost 
fall ; but quickly recovering herself, she sped on 
more swiftly than before. 

Again the rifles rang out ; but the intrepid girl 
never once faltered, and soon, almost fainting, she 
rushed through the open gateway, and fell into her 
brother’s arms. Not a bullet had touched her, 
and she and her precious powder were safe. 

“ ‘ A thousand shall fall by thy side, and ten thou- 
sand at thy right hand ; but it shall not come 
nigh thee,’ ” murmured Goody Nelson, the oldest 
woman in the settlement. 

The brave Elizabeth was soon taken in charge 
by the women, and the men once more gave their 
attention to the besiegers. The silence was un- 
broken ; and no guns, save those which had been 
fired at the fleeing girl, had been heard for an 
hour. Another hour passed ; and the continued 
silence was ominous, as the colonel was fully per- 
suaded that the attack had not been abandoned. 

At last, about half-past two o’clock in the after- 
noon, the savages again made for the log huts, and 
the fight was renewed. They tried to force the 
gate ; but after six of their warriors had fallen, 
they gave up the attempt and again withdrew. 

It was almost dark by this time, and Colonel 
Sheppard was positive that another move would 
be made under its shelter ; nor was he mistaken. 


82 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Girty had found a hollow maple log, and his inge- 
nuity at once suggested a plan by which it might 
be used. It was filled almost to the muzzle with 
powder, stones, and pieces of iron, and securely 
bound with chains. 

In the darkness, Girty and the Senecas stealthily 
moved this within sixty feet of the gate without 
having attracted the attention of the guard, and, 
carefully aiming at the posts, fired it. With a 
report like thunder the log burst into a thousand 
pieces. The missiles flew in every direction ex- 
cept the one that Girty most desired ; and when 
the smoke had cleared enough for him to see the 
effects of the explosion, he found the pickets un- 
harmed, but many of his own warriors lay dead 
around him. 

The conflict now ceased, and the Indians with- 
drew for the night ; but about four o’clock the 
next morning Colonel Swearington and fourteen of 
his men arrived safely at the fort ; and at daybreak 
forty mounted men also came. 

Major M’Culloch, who was in command of them, 
was separated from his men, and the Indians at 
once pursued him into the forests. Several times 
they could have shot him ; but Girty was especially 
desirous of taking him alive, for he was more feared 
by the Indians than almost any other man on the 
frontier. All their efforts were in vain, however, 
and the brave major made his escape in the woods. 


THE HEROISM OF ELIZABETH ZANE 83 

Girty now gave up all hope of taking Fort Henry ; 
and after setting fire to the houses and all the 
fences outside the stockade, he and his followers 
withdrew as silently as they had come. About a 
hundred of their dead were left behind, while the 
garrison had not lost a man during the siege, al- 
though twenty-three of the forty-two in the fort 
had been slain in the first attack in the woods. 

Twenty years later Ebenezer Zane founded what 
is now the city of Zanesville, Ohio ; and as for his 
sister Elizabeth, I have always felt, ever since I 
have heard the story of her heroism at Fort Henry, 
that a half-dozen cities ought to have been named 
for her. 


84 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


X 

king’s mountain 

This ballad, so called, was written soon after the 
battle. Its author is unknown. 

Twas on a pleasant mountain 
The Tory heathens lay, 

With a doughty major at their head. 

One Ferguson they say. 

Cornwallis had detached him, 

A-thieving for to go, 

And catch the Carolina men, 

Or bring the rebels low. 

The scamp had ranged the country 
In search of royal aid, 

And with his owls, perched on high. 

He taught them all his trade. 

But ah ! that fatal morning. 

When Shelby brave drew near! 

’Tis certainly a warning 
That ministers should hear. 

And Campbell and Cleveland, 

And Colonel Sevier, 

Each with a band of gallant men, 

To Ferguson appear. 


KING S MOUNTAIN 




85 


Just as the sun was setting 
Behind the western hills, 

Just then our trusty rifles sent 
A dose of leaden pills. 

Up, up the steep together 
Brave Williams led his troop. 

And joined by Winston, brave and true. 
Disturbed the Tory coop. 

The royal slaves, the royal owls. 

Flew high on every hand ; 

But soon they settled — gave a howl. 
And quartered to Cleveland. 

I could not tell the number 
Of Tories slain that day. 

But surely it is certain 
That none did run away. 

For all that were a-living ' 

Were happy to give up ; 

So let us make thanksgiving. 

And pass the bright tin cup. 

To all the brave regiments 

Let’s toast ’em for their health. 

And may our good country 
Have quietude and wealth. 


86 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


XI 

FIRING THE SHIP 

Not long after the very time, on the Fourth of 
July, 1776, when the Continental Congress at Phil- 
adelphia was struggling with the Declaration of 
Independence, another assembly at Elizabeth Town 
Point was also struggling with the men who had 
planned to invade their homes. The action of the 
former is well-known to-day ; but the deeds of the 
others are forgotten, although the. early records 
inform us that theirs was almost the first true cele- 
bration of the new nation. 

On July second Howe began to land his forces 
on Staten Island. This already was a refuge of 
the Tories ; and when Howe’s men began to arrive 
from Halifax, whither they had gone after they had 
evacuated Boston, the alarm had spread along the 
shore, for all were fearful of an invasion. 

Men and boys had answered the call, and now, 
on the evening of this famous Fourth, were sta- 
tioned behind the cover which hastily had been 
thrown up near the Point, and were engaged in a 
fierce contest with one of the enemy’s sloops of 


FIRING THE SHIP 


87 


fourteen guns, which had come to anchor there 
with the evident intention of destroying the de- 
fence, and scattering the minute-men. 

Nor did the task appear to be a difficult one; 
for the rude earth-works were weak, and the men 
were raw and inexperienced. A small body of Cap- 
tain Neil’s artillery, with two twelve-pound cannon, 
however, were present ; and on these the five hun- 
dred men placed their main reliance. 

The contest had been going on for a half-hour 
now ; and so skilfully had the cannon been handled 
that the mast and rigging of the enemy’s sloop had 
been shot away, and she was unable to withdraw. 
Many of her men also had fallen, while but few of 
the Continentals as yet had been harmed. But 
Captain Neil fully realized how desperate the con- 
ditions were, however ; for at any moment some of 
Howe’s war vessels, hearing the sounds of the en- 
gagement, might come around from the other side 
of the island, and if they did, the contest would 
soon be brought to a close. 

Captain Neil wants to see you,” said an orderly 
to John Clarke and Daniel Baldwin, two boys of 
seventeen who had taken their places with the 
men. 

“What does he want.?” inquired John. 

“ I don’t know. Come, and he’ll tell you him- 
self.” 

The boys took their guns, and following the 


88 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

orderly, soon stood before Captain Neil, whose 
grimy appearance much resembled their own. 

‘‘Are you the boys who went over to Staten 
Island yesterday and fired at the regulars ? ” asked 
the captain. 

“Yes,” replied Daniel. “We were out in our 
skiff, and fired just to let them know that all the 
Jersey men were not asleep. But when a lot of 
regulars came running out of the woods, we made 
off in a hurry.” 

“’Twas a foolish piece of work. Don’t try it 
again. And yet it showed you had some qualities 
which I want to use right away. I want to set fire 
to this sloop. If we don’t, help will come to them 
from the island.” 

The boys were silent, waiting for him to explain 
his words. It certainly would be a desperate ven- 
ture. Even while he was talking a cannon spoke, 
and the reports of many muskets followed. How 
could they set fire to the sloop in the face of such 
dangers ? John’s heart was beating rapidly, and 
Daniel was trembling in his excitement. 

“ I want you to fill a skiff with stuff that will 
burn, and come up to the sloop with it on the other 
side. Make the skiff fast, set fire to' it, and then 
swim off. You can both swim, can’t you.?” said 
the captain. 

“Yes,” replied John. But the prospect was 
frightful. 





“Are Y(ju the Boys Who went over to Staten 


Island Yesterday?” 


Page 88 








FIRING THE SHIP 


89 


How could they approach the sloop without 
being seen ? And if they were, it would mean the 
death of both boys. 

I know it looks desperate,” said the captain, 
reading their thoughts ; ‘‘ but we’ll hold their at- 
tention on this side, and I don’t think they’ll be 
on the lookout for danger from the Sound. Some- 
body must try it, and will you be the ones ? ” 

‘‘My mother told me not to be shot in the 
back,” said Daniel, with a stra»ge choking in his 
throat. “ If it must be done, we may as well try 
it as any one. What do you say, John } ” 

“ We’ll try it,” said John quietly. “But I was 
wondering whether the raft the boys use for crab- 
bing wouldn’t be better than a skiff. It’s right 
up the shore here, and we could stay in the water 
and push it. That would be some protection.” 

“ The very thing ! ” said the captain quickly. 
“ Show us where it is.” 

John led the way, and the raft was soon equipped 
for the perilous attempt. A mass of combustible 
material was piled upon it, and several short planks 
placed across the stern to serve as a protection to 
the boys, who were to swim out with it. Throw- 
ing aside their clothing, they at once pushed it out 
into the water, wading as far as possible, and then 
began to swim. 

“ It’s a desperate chance,” said the orderly when 
the boys disappeared. 


90 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

“ I know it,” replied the captain ; but it had to 
be done. I’m glad it’s so dark, and now we’ll have 
to work to hold the attention of the sloop to this 
side ; ” and he hastened back to his men. 

Meanwhile the boys were swimming, and quickly 
pushed the strange craft before them. They had 
started at quite a distance above the sloop, and the 
outgoing tide was of great service. 

“They’re warming up on shore,” whispered 
Daniel a little later, as the noise of the guns 
increased. 

“Yes, and there’s the sloop right ahead,” re- 
plied John, as the roar and flash of a cannon came 
over the water. “ She’s facing us, and pulling at 
her anchor.” 

Slowly and with increased care now they guided 
the raft towards the bow. It was the time of 
greatest danger, and the boys were almost breath- 
less. Would they be seen by the men on the 
sloop ? John thought of his mother, and a picture 
of his home rose before him. Would he ever see 
it again ? 

There was no time for such thoughts, however, 
as they were right under the bow now. John 
climbed on board the raft, and grasped the heavy 
cable. The rushing tide made the raft swing 
around until her stern was against the side of the 
sloop. It was the very position he desired, and 
thus far they had not been discovered. 


FIRING THE SHIP 


91 


He made the raft fast to the cable, and then took 
his flint and tinder. His hands trembled so that 
he hardly could use them. Again and again he 
struck the flint ; but no sparks came, or if they 
did come, fell harmless. What could be the trou- 
ble ? Could he be heard ? Summoning all his 
courage, again he made the trial ; and this time the 
spark fell and caught. Quickly then the boys slid 
from the raft, and with strong and quick strokes 
swam off. As soon as the cover of the darkness 
had been gained, they paused and waited for the 
blaze. But the flash of the guns was the only 
light that appeared. Another minute passed, and 
another, and still no blaze was seen. Was some- 
thing wrong ? 

‘‘You wait. I’m going back,” whispered John; 
and before his friend could remonstrate he was 
gone. Daniel waited in a fever of excitement, not 
knowing what to do. 

Meanwhile John had safely regained the raft, 
and found, as he had feared, that the fire was out. 
Again he took the flint and tinder, and was rejoiced 
when the first spark fell, and he saw a little tongue 
of flame appear. Satisfied that this time there 
would be no failure, he hurriedly slid into the 
water, and started towards his companion. He 
had gone but a few yards when he turned to look 
at the sloop. What was that he saw ? The face 
of a man peering over the rail. Had he been dis- 


92 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

covered? He quickly sank, and swam under the 
water as long as his breath would permit, and 
when he rose again to the surface the face had 
disappeared. 

“It’ll go this time,” he said, as he rejoined his 
friend, and they started for the shore. Quickly 
putting on their clothing as soon as they arrived, 
they ran towards their cover, and just as they ap- 
proached a shout went up that sounded above the 
noise of the guns. They turned, and looked towards 
the sloop. A long tongue of flame was shooting 
up over the bow. It ran along the bowsprit, it 
spread over the rigging, and climbed the broken 
mast. Again a shout arose from the men on shore. 
The crew of the sloop were taking their wounded 
and dead, and in their yawls were starting for 
Staten Island. 

Not a gun was fired now, for none would harm 
the wounded ; but hardly had they disappeared be- 
fore, with a report like thunder, the blazing sloop 
was blown into a thousand fragments, and then an 
unbroken stillness rested over the Sound. 

“ That’s the best bonfire we ever had,” said Dan- 
iel as he and John were walking up the quaint old 
street towards their homes ; but his friend made 
no reply. 

Not many hours before the time when the sloop 
was set on fire, the Congress at Philadelphia had 
finished its work, and there was a new nation in 


FIRING THE SHIP 


93 


the world. Bells were ringing, guns were fired, 
and bonfires lighted throughout the city. News 
travelled slowly in those days, but on the 8th 
the report of what had been done in Philadelphia 
reached Trenton. There the Provincial Congress, 
the committee, and people assembled, and guns 
again were heard and bonfires kindled. On the 
9th the tidings reached Elizabeth Town, and simi- 
lar scenes were enacted. On the loth New York 
was all ablaze, and parades and bonfires were the 
order of the day. 

“ Fve looked the matter up,” said Daniel to his 
friend ; “ and from all I can learn our celebration 
at the Point when we fired the British sloop was 
just thirty minutes ahead of the real celebration at 
Philadelphia. We didn’t know it, but we had the 
first one in America. Hurrah for the Fourth of 
July and the United Colonies of America ! Like- 
wise hurrah for the boys that had the first cele- 
bration in all the land ! ” 


94 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


XII 

JOHN Schell’s stratagem 

In the summer of 1781, in the Mohawk Valley, 
between Schenectady and Fort Schuyler, there 
were twenty rude forts, which the scattered set- 
tlers had erected for their defence against the 
Tories and Indians, who were very hostile in all 
that region. These ^Torts” were rude, log block- 
houses, and most of them were capable of shelter- 
ing fifteen or twenty families. Many of the settlers 
were German or Dutch ; and their bravery, and 
loyalty to the cause of the struggling colonies, are 
now well known. 

About five miles north of Herkimer, a wealthy 
German, named John Christian Schell, had erected 
a fort, or blockhouse, in the little settlement, which 
in honor of its founder was named Schell’s Bush. 
His fort was two stories high, and so built that the 
upper story projected over the lower, thereby en- 
abling its defenders, if the occasion required, to 
fire directly down upon any assailants. 

But at this time all Schell’s neighbors had 
abandoned their homes, and sought the shelter of 


JOHN Schell’s stratagem 95 

Fort Dayton ; for rumors were rife of the cruel 
deeds of Donald McDonald, — a Scotchman from 
Johnstown, and one of the most zealous of the fol- 
lowers of Sir William Johnson, — and his band of 
sixty Indians and Tories. But the phlegmatic 
Schell had been unmoved by the fears of his 
neighbors, and sturdily held to his place. 

On the day when the events of this story oc- 
curred, he and his eight sons were busy in their 
fields, and working at a considerable distance from 
his house. The summer air was hot ; and as it 
was near midday, Schell stopped for a moment 
to rest, and glance at the sun. He was beginning 
to feel that dinner-time could not be far distant, 
and he glanced towards the house to see if he 
could not discern his wife coming forth to give 
the welcome summons on the conch-shell. 

Yes, there she was now ; and he dropped his 
scythe, and prepared to call his boys to dinner. 
But suddenly he stopped, and gazed in surprise at 
his wife. She had no conch-shell, and was running 
at the top of her speed, waving her sunbonnet in 
her hand, and calling in her loudest tones. Soon 
she was near enough for him to hear her warning 
words, McDonald is coming. The woods are full 
of Indians and Tories.” 

He looked in the direction in which she pointed ; 
and there, on the farther side of the settlement, he 
could see McDonald and his band running towards 


g6 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

the blockhouse. They were a little farther from 
it than were Schell and his boys; and in a mo- 
ment the German and his sons were following Mrs. 
Schell, who had turned and started swiftly towards 
the fort. 

What a race that was! The Indians, as soon 
as they perceived that their presence was known, 
sent forth their blood-curdling yells, and tried to 
increase their speed. But the “ flying Dutchmen ” 
needed no further encouragement, for it was a race 
for life. On and on they ran, breathing hard, and 
putting forth all their strength. Suddenly one of 
the younger boys, who was close behind his father, 
stumbled and fell. Schell groaned as he stopped 
for a moment to assist his son, and then the mad 
race was renewed. 

Mrs. Schell had arrived at the fort, and was 
standing by the open door ready to close it the 
moment the others came up. Swift as was their 
pace, that of the Indians was swifter ; but never 
faltering for a moment the sturdy men swept on. 
Soon the father had gained the door, and turned 
about to see how it fared with his sons. Two 
joined him in a moment, and soon four more were 
with him. 

“ Run, boys ! run I ” he shouted to the two who 
had been farthest from the fort when the alarm 
was sounded ; but he was too late. A band of 
the Indians had intercepted their flight, and were 


JOHN SCHELL’s stratagem 9/ 

between them and the blockhouse. In less time 
than it takes to record it both boys were prison- 
ers, bound hand and foot, and the yelling band 
started on. The door was quickly closed, almost 
in the faces of the Tories, and the little garrison 
prepared to defend the place. 

The blockhouse was well supplied with guns and 
ammunition, and also with food and water ; for 
the careful German, in spite of his apparent in- 
difference, had kept his place of defence well 
equipped, and now the testing-time had come. 

“ You look after McDonald, and I’ll attend to 
the loading of the guns,” said Mrs. Schell. 

From different port-holes Schell and his sons 
fired at the besiegers. The father was calm, but 
the boys were trembling in their excitement. The 
Indians were yelling like demons, and the Tories 
were their fitting companions. Again and again 
they advanced ; but the well-aimed guns of the de- 
fenders soon taught them to be careful, and they 
withdrew to the shelter of the forest. The thud 
of their bullets, as they struck the logs of the fort, 
was heard continually ; but thus far no one within 
had been injured, and they were certain that sev- 
eral of the Tories had been hit. 

‘‘They’re trying to burn us out,” said Schell 
after an hour had passed. Several of the Indians 
had crept close up under the walls, and were en- 
deavoring to set fire to the fort. The upper story 


98 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

now became the resort of three of the boys, and 
the assailants soon learned more caution. A 
shower of burning arrows fell upon the roof, but 
the water which had been stored within quickly 
put out each fire. 

The fight was becoming desperate. Thus far 
the assailants had gained nothing except their two 
prisoners, while their losses were considerable. 
Suddenly one of the frightened inmates called out, 
“Father, there’s McDonald himself at the door 
with a crowbar. If he breaks it in, it’s all up with 
us.” 

But Schell did not wait for any further warning. 
Quickly grasping his gun, he ran up the ladder to 
the second story, and glanced out of one of the port- 
holes. Yes, there was McDonald pounding with 
his heavy bar against the door. Already it was 
beginning to give way before him, and in a mo- 
ment it must fall. The Tory leader was alone, none 
of his followers having cared to join him in his 
dangerous attempt. A wholesome respect for the 
defenders was apparent amongst all the assailants. 

Schell quickly raised his gun, and fired directly 
down upon McDonald. With a groan the Tory 
fell, his thigh shattered by the ball. 

“ Here, father, what are you doing .? ” called out 
the startled woman, as she saw her husband fling 
his gun aside and run to the door. In a moment 
he had slipped back the bars, and flung it open. 


JOHN Schell’s stratagem 99 

He stepped boldly forth, and grasping the Tory by 
the shoulders, dragged him within. Just as he 
shut the door, a yell louder than any they had 
heard, burst from the astonished Indians, and a 
shower of bullets struck the house. 

You’re a bit late,” muttered Schell ; then turn- 
ing to his prisoner, he said, “ I’ll trouble you for 
your cartridge-belt. Your cartridges are all made 
up ready to use, and will. save us time.” 

The belt was surrendered, and Schell prepared 
to continue the defence. He knew that all dan- 
ger from fire had now ceased, for the Tories had 
no desire to burn their leader ; and he was not 
without hope that the siege would be abandoned. 

If the Indians had been left to themselves, doubt- 
less that would have been the case, for they seldom 
carried on a long attack ; but the white men were 
leaders, and they had no thoughts of abandoning 
McDonald. 

A brief respite however ensued ; and the bold 
German, going to the upper story, began to sing. 
He spoke English almost as fluently as he did his 
own language ; and soon the astonished besiegers 
heard the words of Luther’s hymn. The English 
translation that later became so popular was : 


“ A firm fortress is our God, a good defence and weapon ; 

He helps us free from all our troubles which have now befallen us. 
The old evil enemy, he is now seriously going to work ; 

Great power and much cunning are his cruel equipments, 


100 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

There is none like him on the earth. 

And if the world were full of devils, ready to devour us, 

We are by no means much afraid, for finally we must overcome 
The prince of this world, however badly he may behave. 

He cannot injure us, and the reason is, because He is our judge ; 
A little word can lay him low.” 

This was more than the desperate enemy could 
endure. To have their leader a prisoner was bad 
enough, but to be taunted by the feeble garrison 
was worse. 

Suddenly five of them ran, and thrust their guns 
together through one of the port-holes ; but the 
resolute woman was ready for them, and seizing 
an axe, she dealt the protruding gun-barrels such 
heavy blows that they were rendered useless in a 
moment. A sharp fire from Schell and the boys, 
at the same time, drove the assailants back. 

All the summer afternoon the desperate attack 
was kept up, until the sun was sinking low in the 
west. Something must be done ; for if the Indians 
remained through the night, no one knew what 
they might accomplish under the cover of the dark- 
ness. Eleven had been killed and six wounded ; 
but they still far outnumbered the defenders, who 
were as yet all unharmed. 

As the dusk crept on, suddenly Schell ran to the 
upper story, and calling out in tones loud enough 
to be heard by the enemy, shouted to his wife, 
‘‘ There comes Captain Small with a band of men 
from Fort Dayton ! ” 


JOHN Schell’s stratagem ioi 

A silence fell over all at the words, unbroken 
till a few moments later, when Schell shouted once 
more, “That’s right, Captain Small. March your 
men round upon this side of the house. Captain 
Getman, you had better wheel your men off to the 
left, and come up on that side.” 

The ruse was effective ; and the besiegers, with- 
out waiting to see whether Schell spoke truly or 
not, broke and fled for the woods, and the attack 
on Schell’s Bush was over. 

On the following day the merciful German car- 
ried the wounded McDonald to Fort Dayton, where 
his leg was amputated ; but the suffering man was 
not able to endure the operation, and died within a 
few hours. Schell’s two sons were carried captives 
into Canada; but after the war they returned to 
their home, and reported that nine of the wounded 
enemy had died on the journey. 


102 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


XIII 

THE WAR woman’s GUESTS 

Nancy Hart was standing in the doorway of 
her rude log cabin one morning in the spring of 
1 779. She had been gazing earnestly up the road, 
but as her glance turned and fell upon the place 
below, where War Woman’s Creek joined Broad 
River, she smiled grimly ; for she knew that the 
stream had been named in her honor, and that 
along the border of South Carolina and Georgia 
she herself was known as the “ War Woman.” 

Not that she was the only brave woman there, 
however, for the neighborhood had been named by 
the Tories “The Hornet’s Nest,” so active were 
the patriots ; but Nancy was the most fearless of 
them all. The feeling was bitter ; and many of her 
neighbors, both Whigs and Tories, already had for- 
feited their lives for their convictions. 

Nancy this morning had frequently gone to the 
door ; for reports of bands of Tories sent out from 
Augusta had been current, and her husband and 
three of the neighbors were now hiding in the 
swamp below the house ; but she knew she could 


THE WAR woman’s GUESTS IO3 

warn them of danger by the conch-shell concealed 
in the stump near the spring. One blast meant 
that “ Britishers ” were near, two that the husband 
was wanted at the cabin, and three that he was to 
make his escape to another swamp. 

As she could see no signs of danger, she turned 
again to her work. She did not know that five 
Tories were then riding rapidly along the upper 
road, and that the ‘^War Woman’s” house was 
their destination ; nor was she aware that the day 
was to be the most exciting in her life. 

Soon, however, she was again standing in the 
doorway, holding her rude rolling-pin in her hands. 
This time she was startled by the sound of ap- 
proaching horsemen, and in a moment the five 
Tories appeared. She stood and watched them as 
they let down the bars, and rode up in front of the 
door. She had recognized them at once, and knew 
that she had to deal with the most brutal men in 
all that region. 

We want to know,” said the leader roughly, 
“whether you hid that rebel, John Symmer, from 
the king’s men the other day.^*” 

“ I don’t know that it concerns you ; but I did.” 
Nancy was calm, but her eyes were snapping. She 
was cross-eyed, and no one knew just at whom she 
was looking. 

“ As soon as I saw the boy, and knew the trai- 
tors were chasing him,” she resumed, “ I let down 


104 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

the bars, and he rode straight through the house, 
and hid in the swamp. Then I put up the bars, 
and came into the house and shut the doors. 
Pretty soon up came the Tories, and called to me. 
I clapped a shawl on my head, and opening the 
door, asked what they wanted to disturb a poor 
sick woman for. They told me they had traced 
their man to my house, and wanted to know 
whether I had seen any one on horseback or not. 
I pretended to think for a bit, and then told them 
I saw a man on a sorrel horse turn out of the path 
into the woods about two hundred yards back. 
‘ That’s our man,’ said the fools, and they started 
off in a hurry. If they’d stopped to look at the 
ground, they’d have seen his tracks this side of 
the bars ; but that’s the way with such traitors.” 

‘‘You’ll be sorry for that some day,” said the 
leader angrily. “ But give us something to eat.” 

“ I never feed traitors or king’s men.” 

“ But you’ll feed us,” said the leader, enraged, 
and leaping from his horse. 

Nancy was calm, but her grasp of her rolling- 
pin tightened. She did not move as the man ap- 
proached, and he stopped for a parley. He had 
heard of the “ War Woman ” before. “ We’ve had 
nothing to eat since yesterday. You’ll give us 
something, I know you will.” 

“You’ve already stolen everything we had,” re- 
plied Nancy. “We haven’t a grunter left.” 


THE WAR woman’s GUESTS 10$ 

‘‘There’s a gobbler, at any rate,” replied the 
Tory, as he quickly lifted his gun and fired. The 
turkey fell over, and with one or two convulsive 
kicks expired. 

“ Now you clean and cook him for us,” he added, 
as he threw the dead bird at her feet. 

Nancy was thoroughly angry now, and a bright 
red spot appeared on each cheek. She hesitated 
a moment, and was about to refuse ; but a new 
thought came, and without a word she took the 
gobbler, and began to clean it. 

“ Sukey,” she said to her little girl twelve years 
old, “I want some water. You go down to the 
spring and get me some. Blow once on the conch,” 
she added in a low voice. 

Sukey nodded her head understandingly, and 
soon returned. She replied to the question in 
her mother’s eyes by a vigorous nod, and the 
“ War Woman ” soon had the turkey ready for 
her visitors. She arranged the table, and pre- 
pared to wait upon the men herself. 

“ Haven’t you anything to drink ? ” asked the 
leader soon after the dinner began. 

“ Yes,” replied Nancy, as she hastened to bring 
a jug from the cellar. 

“ This war woman isn’t so bad,” said one of the 
men while she was gone. “I have seen lots of 
worse Whigs than she.” 

Perhaps if he could have noted the expression 


I06 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

upon her face when she left the room he might 
not have been quite so complacent, for Nancy had 
forgotten neither her name nor nature. But the 
feast was on ; and Nancy and Sukey were kept busy 
by the Tories, who soon became hilarious. Sukey 
could not understand it. What had wrought the 
change in her mother ^ She never had seen her 
so quiet before when Tories were about. 

“ I want some water,” said one of the men 
thickly. “Gimme some water.” 

“ I shall have to send for it,” replied Nancy. 
There was a gleam in her eyes now. The very 
moment for which she had been planning had 
come. “ Sukey, you take the bucket, and go down 
to the spring. Blow twice,” she whispered in her 
little daughter’s ear as she left the room. 

“Blow twice,” thought Sukey on her way to 
the spring. “ Why, that means to call pap in. I 
wonder what marm can want of him, with those 
king’s men in the house. He’ll get into trouble.” 

But Sukey had been trained to obey ; and be- 
fore she returned, two clear calls from the conch- 
shell had sounded over the swamp. The thirsty 
men in the cabin eagerly drank of the water she 
brought, and then resumed their feasting, for 
turkey was not to be had every day. 

“ Pass round the jug, old woman,” called one of 
the men. 

Nancy Hart was not an old woman, but she did 


THE WAR woman’s GUESTS 10/ 

not heed the insult. Sukey was more and more 
troubled, and was quite certain that her father 
would not approve. What was it her mother was 
doing now Gently she was pulling several pieces 
of pine ‘‘chinking” from between the logs of which 
the cabin was built. She could look through into 
the yard now. Her mother must be crazy. 

But Nancy had a method in her madness. The 
Tories had leaned their guns against the wall when 
they had taken their seats. Nancy was near them 
now ; and, without attracting the attention of the 
men, she slipped one of the guns through the hole 
she had made in the wall, and listened to hear it 
fall outside. A second gun followed, and now only 
three remained. The “ War Woman ” was not idle. 

Again she hastened to wait upon the men, and 
urged the use of the jug. Satisfied that their at- 
tention was withdrawn, she grasped the third gun, 
and made ready to have it follow its corripanions, 

“Here, woman, what are you doing ” said one 
of the men, suddenly noticing the action of the 
“War Woman.” 

“Two of our guns are gone already,” said 
another ; and all five men were standing now. 

“ Kill the vixen !” said the leader, as he started 
toward Nancy. 

“You stay right where you are,” said the “War 
Woman ” in a low voice. “ I’ll shoot the first man 
that takes a step toward me or the guns.” 


I08 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

The Tories knew her now for the ** War Woman ” 
indeed. It was a scene for a painter. The five 
men were standing about the table, and watching 
the fearless woman, who stood with her back to the 
wall, with the gun at her shoulder. The startled 
Sukey had withdrawn to a corner, and, breathless, 
was watching them all. But not one of the men 
dared to move. They were convinced that the first 
to start must face the War Woman’s ” shot. 

But such an attitude could not long be endured. 
Even now Nancy was beginning to tremble. 
Would help never come ? Soon she knew she 
would fall — and then } Her heart sank, and her 
cheeks grew pale at the thought. 

What was that ? Close beside her she felt, rath- 
er than saw, the muzzle of a gun pushed through 
the opening she had made in the wall. Another 
and another followed, and then there came a re- 
port that almost deafened her. Through the smoke 
she saw three of the Tories fall, and the others, 
in their endeavors to escape, run into the arms of 
the War Woman’s ” husband and his compan- 
ions. 

Mercy! Mercy!” begged the men. 

‘^You shall have the mercy you have shown 
others,” was Hart’s reply; and what that “ mercy ” 
was might have been seen a half hour later, when 
two lifeless bodies were hanging from a tree by 
the roadside, swinging in the wind, and with great 



“ I’ll shoot the 


First Man Who 
TOWARD Me.” 


TAKES A Step 

Page 107 




THE WAR woman’s GUESTS IO9 

Staring eyes, that, looking out, saw nothing in all^ 
the forest. 

What times they must have been ! No man’s 
life was safe ; and in their desperation, sometimes 
the patriots were as relentless as their foes. But 
Nancy Hart, the “War Woman,” was not without 
mercy; and the stories of her tenderness were as 
many as of her daring. 


no STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


XIV 

AN OLD-TIME DECORATION DAY 

** We couldn’t move the old fellow, Tom. He’s 
as obstinate as a mule.” 

didn’t think you could get him. He isn’t 
that kind.” 

‘‘ So much the worse for him. We’ve been up 
to his place twice to-day. We offered him a good 
position, and promised him protection, but he never 
answered a word. I’m sorry for the old man ; but to- 
morrow he’ll have to take the oath, or swing for it.” 

He’ll swing, then ; for he’ll never take it. I 
know Judge Williams ; he’s got his mind made 
up, and that’s the end of it.” 

‘‘Well, it’s his own choice; he has nobody to 
blame but himself.” 

The speaker turned, and left the two boys with 
whom he had been talking. He was a sergeant 
serving under Tarleton, who had despatched a band 
of a hundred men to scour that portion of South 
Carolina in which they then were, in the summer 
of 1780, and drive out the Whigs, or compel them 
to take the oath of allegiance to the British king. 


AN OLD-TIME DECORATION DAY 


III 


They had encamped for the night under the shel- 
ter of a hill, on the summit of which was the home 
of Judge Williams, a stalwart Whig ; and their two 
visits to him that afternoon had not availed to 
shake the old man’s resolution. 

The two boys to whom the young sergeant had 
been relating the story of the fruitless attempts 
to change the purpose of the judge were Tom 
Crowell and John Blake. Tom’s mother was a 
widow ; and when a detachment of Tarleton’s men 
had stopped at her home on the preceding day, 
and offered him his choice between leaving the 
country or joining their band, one look at the chil- 
dren, and one thought of the suffering which his 
mother might be compelled to undergo, had decided 
him. Forgetting loyalty to country, for the sake 
of his mother and the children he had yielded. 

A similar offer to his friend and neighbor John 
Blake had made him yield also ; and much against 
their wills the two boys found themselves serving 
under the British flag. They were not given much 
liberty, however, and soon saw that they were re- 
garded with suspicion, in spite of the oath they had 
taken. 

‘‘I say, John,” said Tom, soon after the inter- 
view with the sergeant, when both boys lay wrapped 
in their blankets on the ground, ‘^I wish we’d 
done as Judge Williams has. That’s what my sis- 
ter Nancy wanted me to do all the time.” 


1 12 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

‘‘We couldn’t help it,” replied John. “What 
could two boys only eighteen years old do, I’d like 
to know ? ” 

“ Oh ! we had to do it, I reckon. Still, some- 
how I wish we hadn’t. I wonder what the judge 
will do now ? ” 

“ Sh ! ” whispered John. “ Here comes the 
guard.” And both became silent, and were soon 
asleep. 

Meanwhile Judge Williams was doing his utmost 
to answer Tom’s question. He fully realized that 
the morrow would see the matter decided, and he 
knew too much about the sufferings of his Whig 
neighbors to be long in doubt as to what would 
happen to himself. The energetic old man promptly 
decided that it would be better for him to act than 
to leave it all with Tarleton’s men ; and accord- 
ingly, soon after sunset, he sent his faithful ser- 
vants in every direction to summon those of his 
neighbors upon whom he knew he could rely. 

Slowly the men began to assemble at his home. 
They came singly, or by twos or threes ; and every 
man had his flintlock. A whispered word from the 
judge explained the purpose of the call, and a 
decided nod was the reply of each as he took his 
seat and waited in silence. By midnight twenty- 
five men were there. An hour later five more 
had arrived. They waited another hour ; then, as 
only three more had come, the judge decided that 


AN OLD-TIME DECORATION DAY 


13 


it was time for action. Thirty-three men against 
a hundred ! What could they hope to do ? 

No time was allowed for thinking of such prob- 
lems, however, and the determined band passed 
silently out into the darkness. Not a word was 
spoken except by the leader, and like moving shad- 
ows they advanced slowly down the hill towards 
the camp of Captain Eddy. 

There were faint streaks of light in the eastern 
sky when they halted, and crept forward on their 
hands and knees to within a few yards of Tarle- 
ton’s men. Then, at a signal from the leader, they 
all arose and stood together, waiting for the final 
word. The gray of the dawn had already ap- 
peared. They could discern the forms of the 
guards as they paced back and forth near the 
camp, and also the outlines of the tents. 

** All ready,” said the judge in a low voice. 

Now, then ! ” 

A shout from the united band broke in upon the 
stillness of the early morning. There was a swift 
rush forward, and the calls and cries were redoubled. 
To the startled band in the camp it seemed as if 
howling enemies were on every side of them. They 
leaped to their feet, and made a rush for their guns. 
Before these could be reached, however, a volley 
rang out. The startled men no longer sought their 
guns. They darted into the woods in every direc- 
tion, intent now only upon their own safety. But 


1 14 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

not all went. There were cries and groans, and 
many fell to the ground. 

Are you hit, Tom ” said John. The boys 
had been startled with the others at the first 
alarm, and crouching low had begun to run from 
the camp. 

“ No,” replied Tom. Are you } ” 

“ No. Drop to the ground. Pretend you’re hit. 
Maybe we can get away. Quick. Lie on your 
face.” 

And in a moment both fell prostrate on the 
ground and lay still. Over them swept pursuers 
and pursued. Others lay on the ground close 
by, but with them there was no deceit. Some 
were groaning or crying, some would never speak 
again. Above all sounded the shouts of the soldiers 
farther and farther away. 

For half an hour the boys did not move, even 
to raise their heads. Some one might be watch- 
ing ; and the slightest sign might mean for them, a 
real, not a feigned death. But at last Tom heard 
a party approaching. Slowly he turned his head. 
Yes, there they were, a dozen at least ; and he 
thought they wore no uniforms. It must be that 
the attacking party were now returning. So 
thought Tom ; and quickly standing upright he 
called to his companion, “Come on, John, we’re 
all right now. They’ve driven the Tories off, and 
we’re among friends again.” 


AN OLD-TIME DECORATION DAY II5 

Suddenly he stopped, and looked in confusion at 
the men before him. He had made a mistake ; 
they were not the men who had made the attack. 
There was the young sergeant, and beside him 
were some of Tarleton’s men whom he recognized 
at once. 

In confusion he was about to turn and run, when 
he was suddenly surrounded ; and before he could 
offer any resistance his hands and feet were se- 
curely bound, and he was thrown heavily upon the 
ground. John was served in a similar manner. 

Then the young officer said, “ Yes, you’re among 
friends ; you are, indeed. We’ll do you a friendly 
turn, we will. You young rascals ; probably you 
helped set this party on us. They scattered us a 
bit ; but we’ve got together again now, and they’re 
the ones that are running. As soon as Captain 
Eddy comes we’ll attend to you fellows.” 

John made no reply. What could he say He 
knew only too well what in all probability was be- 
fore him. Tom was silent too ; and with hopeless 
eyes they looked about them in their despair. 

Hark ! Some one was coming. Tom looked up, 
and saw Captain Eddy and a band of his men. 
Their faces were flushed, and as they came into 
the camp the boy could see that the leader was 
almost beside himself with rage. 

The young sergeant stepped up to the captain, 
and spoke a few words which Tom could not hear; 


Il6 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

but there was no doubt about their effect. Sud- 
denly Captain Eddy turned, and approaching the 
prostrate boys said, “ They did, did they ? String 
’em up ! String ’em up on the first tree ! ” 

In a moment the boys were lifted from the 
ground, and carried by the angry men to a tree by 
the roadside, the captain leading the way. ' There 
they halted. 

Two days afterwards an old man, bent and gray 
and marked by suffering, crept up to the door of 
Mistress Crowell’s home, and rapped. 

My good woman,” he began, when the door 
was opened. 

Mercy on us ! ” exclaimed the woman. It’s 
Judge Williams.” 

I was Judge Williams once. Now I’m an out- 
cast. I’ve been in the woods two days and two 
nights. This morning I came out ; and there, 
hanging from a long limb which reached out over 
the road, were two bodies.” 

The woman was gazing at him now with an ex- 
pression of agony on her face. She tried to speak, 
but the words would not come. 

^‘Was one of them Tom.?” It was Nancy, 
Tom’s sister, who was speaking ; and her voice 
was low and firm. 

“Yes,” replied the judge softly. “I thought 
you ought to know.” 

“ I’m going there,” said Nancy firmly. 


AN OLD-TIME DECORATION DAY II7 

No, no ! ” interrupted the judge quickly. 

There’s a placard warning every one against 
cutting him down or giving him Christian burial. 
Oh ! it’s horrible, horrible ! Were ever such vil- 
lains on earth before.^” 

“ I’m going there,” repeated Nancy quietly. 
“ Come, Betty, you come with me. Mother, you’d 
better lie down while I’m gone. I’ll be back soon.” 

The judge stopped as he entered the road, and 
watched Nancy and her younger sister as they 
passed out of sight. 

On went the girls, neither of them speaking, 
until at last they came in sight of something that 
caused them both to stop. A sob which Nancy 
could not check escaped her, and she covered her 
face with her hands. 

“ I’m afraid, Nancy,” whispered Betty. “ Let’s 
go home.” 

No,” replied Nancy firmly ; “we’ll go on now.” 

The resolute girl went through her terrible task 
almost unaided. A shallow grave just within the 
borders of the forest was dug, and there both of 
the young soldiers were laid for their final rest. 

“ Where are you going now, Nancy ? ” inquired 
Betty, when, after their return to the house, Nancy 
started forth again. 

“ I’m going there with these.” She held up two 
little flags which one of Sumter’s men had given 
her not long before. 


Il8 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Flags were scarce in those days, and Nancy had 
prized them the more highly because of that fact. 
She would put these to a good use. The head of 
each grave was soon surmounted by a tiny flag. 
A wreath of wild summer roses was made, and rev- 
erently placed on each mound. Then, satisfied 
that her duty was done, Nancy stepped out into 
the road to return. 

“Nancy, there’s a redcoat,” whispered Betty, 
pulling at her sister’s dress. 

Nancy glanced up, and saw a soldier standing 
before her. Without doubt he had been watching 
her all the time, and as she thought of the warning 
of the placard her face grew pale. 

“ What have you been doing ? ” asked the 
soldier. 

“ Decorating the graves of my brother and his 
friend, whom you hung.” 

He looked at her a moment in silence ; then, 
turning, left her without a word. And Nancy, 
never knowing that she had just been doing a deed 
which almost a hundred years later the new nation 
would take up and make a national custom, also 
turned, and in silence sought her home to comfort 
her heart-broken mother. 


MRS. BENEDICT ARNOLD 


II9 


XV 

MRS. BENEDICT ARNOLD 

Was the wife of the famous (or infamous) 
traitor a sharer in her husband’s plots ^ Did she 
fall with him, or he with her ? Was she the Lady 
Macbeth of the Revolution, or was she sinned 
against ^ 

Alexander Hamilton believed her innocent of 
crime if not of blame, and so did Robert Morris. 
Historians such as Sparks and Reed have united 
in declaring that Mrs. Arnold was more sinned 
against than a sinner. “ Poor Mrs. Arnold ! Was 
there ever such an infernal villain ? ” wrote the 
financier of the Revolution in a letter concerning 
the treason of the traitor. 

Margaret Shippen, the young wife of Benedict 
Arnold, was a Philadelphia girl. She came of a 
family that was known as one of the highest of 
the city. Wealth, luxury, and flattery were about 
her from her earliest years. This youngest daugh- 
ter of the man who later was chief justice of Penn- 
sylvania, the pet and “baby” of the household, 
the toast of the young British officers while their 


120 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

army occupied the city, was only eighteen years of 
age when Arnold first met her. Beautiful and 
fascinating, she was the type of what would now 
be known as a ‘‘ society girl.” 

In her home the Continentals had been held up 
to ridicule. They were boors, and wanting in all 
the graces of the well-dressed, smooth-mannered 
British officers. Their clothing was ill-fitting, their 
manners coarse, and they were not accustomed 
to the “best society.” She heard nothing of the 
rugged devotion and deep, strong patriotism of the 
Continental leaders. The sympathies of her family 
were all with the more aristocratic Tories ; and 
right, to her, became synonymous with luxury and 
display. 

Before this young girl appeared Benedict Ar- 
nold, some years her senior. There are letters ex- 
tant which show the general feeling of her family 
toward this young officer, who differed so much 
from the rank and file of his companions. Not a 
word concerning his character or his moral in- 
tegrity, but all were of his fine figure, his brilliant 
and dashing manners, his ability to dance well, 
and to conduct himself properly in the presence 
of such refined people as Margaret Shippen’s 
family. The young girl was “taken,” and appar- 
ently “ took ” her family along with her. 

There is a published letter, written by Arnold 
from the camp at Raritan to Margaret Shippen in 


MRS. BENEDICT ARNOLD 


I2I 


February, 1779, not long before their marriage, in 
which he gives full play to his feelings. There 
are bitter allusions to the leaders, and harsh com- 
plaints at their failure to recognize and do justice 
to his merits ; and we may be sure a young soldier, 
as deeply in love as Arnold doubtless was, would 
not have written in that fashion unless he had 
known in just what manner his letter would have 
been received. 

He knew her admiration for the dashing red- 
coated men, and it may be she may have expressed 
her wish that he was on the other side ; but there 
is no record of her ever having written such words 
to her lover. His own letters show by their ex- 
pressions his knowledge of her real feelings in the 
struggle. The unconscious influence of the society 
girl must be considered among the elements that 
led to the downfall, or rather to the revelation, of 
Arnold’s character ; for he was a traitor not be- 
cause he betrayed his country, but he betrayed his 
country because he had already become a traitor. 

The marriage, which soon followed, increased 
the perils of Arnold. His wife still clung to her 
friends, who were on the other side in the struggle ; 
and through her, her husband was brought into 
frequent contact with the enemies of his country. 
It is highly probable that more than once he lis- 
tened to expressions of wonder that such a man as 
he should be content to remain among the boors. 


122 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

It was no cause of wonder that he should not be 
appreciated by them. The simple truth was, they 
were incapable of appreciating such a man, who in 
ability and grace so far surpassed them all. 

If such words were spoken, Arnold found no 
antidote in the counsels or example of his wife. 
She had none of the missionary spirit in her na- 
ture, and could not understand what such coarse 
and rough men wanted. For herself, a gay time 
was the only happy time ; and she had no taste or 
desire for the narrow life of the wife of even one 
of the ablest of the American generals. 

Nor was her influence alone with the young 
British officers. At the very time when the little 
party of Washington arrived at West Point, Lafay- 
ette reminded the general that Mrs. Arnold might 
be waiting breakfast for them, and that they had 
best hasten ; and the leader laughingly responded, 
“Ah, you young men are all in love with Mrs. 
Arnold, and wish to get where she is as soon as 
possible. Go breakfast with her, and do not wait 
for me.” 

The correspondence of Major Andre with Mrs. 
Arnold often has been quoted as showing that she 
had a share in the plot which was then going on ; 
but a candid judgment can only pronounce it all 
a part of the life of the light-hearted woman. She 
simply must keep in touch with the gayer life 
of the world outside ; and Andre’s letters, bright, 


MRS. BENEDICT ARNOLD 123 

witty, and full of gossip, were only a portion of 
that. 

When Arnold knew that his plot was discovered 
he hastened to his wife’s room, quickly summoned 
her, and under the necessity of prompt action al- 
most brutally told her the exact condition ; and 
when he left the room his wife had swooned and 
fallen. 

When General Washington saw her, as he did 
soon, she -had recovered sufficiently to vent all her 
feelings upon him. He was to blame for it all. 
He it was who had plotted to ruin her husband, 
and murder his wife and child. Colonel Hamilton’s 
letters describe her almost uncontrollable ravings 
and tears. 

Even then the true nature showed itself. She 
made no plans to join her husband, but left West 
Point to seek her father’s home in Philadelphia. 
But, by an order of the authorities, all of Arnold’s 
papers had been seized, and among them the let- 
ters of Major Andre were found. Simple they 
seem to us now ; but in the condition of public sen- 
timent at the time, they were so construed as to 
implicate Mrs. Arnold in the treason of her hus- 
band, and by an order of the council she was com- 
pelled to leave the State, nor was she to be allowed 
to return so long as the war continued. 

Sadly the broken-hearted woman, still little more 
than a girl, started on her journey across New Jer- 


124 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

sey to rejoin her husband, who was then in New 
York. Public sentiment was not all on one side, 
however ; and several times in her journey, when 
her coach entered villages where the people were 
preparing to burn or hang the traitor in effigy, 
the deed was postponed until after she had left 
the town. 

From this time forth her life was under a 
shadow. Her husband had left the Americans, 
but he had not gained the British. The long war 
came to a close ; and for a time Mrs. Arnold re- 
sided with her husband, at St. John, N.B., whence 
reports came that she had regained a portion of 
her vivacity, and was a fascinating society woman. 

However, their home was abandoned soon, and 
then they resided in London. An American visi- 
tor wrote back one time of having seen Benedict 
Arnold and his wife standing together before the 
tomb of Andre in Westminster Abbey. He did 
not write what their conversation was ; but if he 
could have told their thoughts, the world would 
certainly have been interested. 

Benedict Arnold died three years before his 
wife ; but not even her friends knew much of her 
life in London, where she continued to reside. 
Margaret Shippen, the light-hearted, gay society 
girl of Philadelphia, had become Margaret Arnold, 
the widow of the traitor, the man without a coun- 
try or a friend. 


MRS. BENEDICT ARNOLD 


25 


\ Broken in spirits, prematurely old, she laid the 
heavy burden down when she was only forty-three 
years of age. Her life, which had tended to in- 
tensify the weaknesses of Arnold instead of sup- 
plementing them, was not worth living when the 
glamour was gone ; and out of the sowing of frivol- 
ity and lightness came the harvest of sadness and 
despair. 


126 


STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


XVI 

NATHAN HALE 

This was one of the most popular songs of the 
Revolution. 

The breezes went steadily through the tall pines, 

A-saying “ Oh, hush! ” a-saying “Oh, hush!” 

As stilly stole by a bold legion of horse. 

For Hale in the bush, for Hale in the bush. 

“Keep still!” said the thrush, as she nestled her young. 

In a nest by the road, in a nest by the road. 

“For the tyrants are near, and with them appear 
What bodes us no good, what bodes us no good.” 

The brave captain heard it, and thought of his home. 

In a cot by the brook, in a cot by the brook, 

With mother and sister, and memories dear. 

He so gayly forsook, he so gayly forsook. 

Cooling shades of the night were coming apace. 

The tattoo had beat, the tattoo had beat. 

The noble one sprang from his dark hiding-place, 

To make his retreat, to made his retreat. 

He wearily trod on the dry rustling leaves. 

As he passed through the wood, as he passed through the 
wood. 

And silently gained his rude launch on the shore. 

As she played with the flood, as she played with the flood. 


NATHAN HALE 


127 


The guard of the camp, on that dark, dreary night, 

Had a murderous will, had a murderous will. 

They took him, and bore him afar from the shore, 

To a hut on the hill, to a hut on the hill. 

No mother was there, nor a friend who could cheer, 

. In that little storve cell, in that little stone cell. ' 

But he trusted in love from his father above. 

In his heart all was well, in his heart all was well. 

An ominous owl, with his solemn bass voice. 

Sat moaning hard by, sat moaning hard by; 

“The tyrant’s proud minions must gladly rejoice. 

For he must soon die, for he must soon die.” 

The brave fellow faced them, no thing he restrained, ^ 
The cruel gen’ral, the cruel gen’ral: 

His errand from camp, of the ends to be gained. 

And said that was all, and said that was all. 

They took him, and bound him, and bore him away, 
Down the hill’s grassy side, down the hill’s grassy side. 

’Twas there the base hirelings in royal array 
His cause did deride, his cause did deride. 

Five minutes were given, short minutes, no more. 

For him to repent, for him to repent. 

He prayed for his mother, he asked not another, 

To heaven he went, to heaven he went. 

The faith of a martyr the tragedy showed. 

As he trod the last stage, as he trod the last stage. 

And Britons will shudder at gallant Hale’s blood. 

As his words do presage, as his words do presage. 

Thou pale king of terrors, thou life’s gloomy foe. 

Go frighten the slave, go frighten the slave; 

Tell tyrants to you their allegiance they owe. 

No fears for the brave, no fears for the brave ! 


128 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


XVII 

BETWEEN TWO FIRES 

** I don’t believe there’s anything to be afraid 
of.” 

“ I’m much of that same opinion myself.” 

“Then, why does old man Ellis want to keep 
such a guard in his mill ^ A dozen men on duty 
here, when there’s something going on around New 
York and in the South ! ” 

The speakers were two men named Cox and 
Skinner, who formed a part of a guard of twelve 
men at the mill of Scotchman Ellis, or “ Old Man” 
Ellis as he was familiarly known. This mill was 
built over the Mohawk River, where its swift cur- 
rent grew swifter within a narrow gorge, and where 
to-day the steep rocks that rise along its sides form 
the foundations of many busy factories. But this 
conversation we have quoted occurred in the sum- 
mer of 1780, when there were special reasons why 
the patriots wished to protect Ellis and the prop- 
erty which a few years before he had acquired by 
a patent from Sir William Johnson. 

Fort Dayton and Fort Herkimer were both 




“Wench, Wench! 


He shouted, “ Where is Your 
Master?” 





BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


129 


largely dependent upon it for their supplies ; and 
the few families at German Flats had no other 
place to which they could carry their corn, and 
have it ground into meal. There was a small set- 
tlement near the mill, but there were not enough 
men in it to protect the property; and so twelve 
soldiers had been detailed from the Continental 
army to do duty as a guard every night until the 
pressing necessities of the forts and scattered set- 
tlers had been supplied. 

The soldiers had been there now for a week ; and, 
as no signs of an attack had appeared, they were 
becoming tired of the monotonous life. The wild- 
ness of the region and the novelty of their duties, 
at first had been sufficient to interest them ; but 
now they were eager to return to the forts, and 
such words as those we have quoted were fre- 
quently heard. 

But at the very time when Cox and Skinner 
were complaining to each other, a band of Indians 
and Tories were moving amongst the hills in the 
darkness, and their destination was Ellis’s mill on 
the Mohawk. Perhaps Johnson had some desire 
to regain the property from which he had so easily 
parted ; and if his band should succeed, there would 
certainly be no haggling about the price to be paid, 
for Ellis would be a prisoner, unless, indeed, he fell 
in the defence, which it was well known he would 
attempt to make. 


130 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

The Indians, and the no less cruel Tories, 
stealthily made their way through the darkness. 
They were familiar with every foot of the ground, 
and the dim light of the waning moon was all they 
needed. On they moved, past the few scattered 
log houses in which the hardy patriots dwelt. 
They had no time and but slight inclination to 
trouble them now; for most of the men were in 
the army, and as for supplies, the country had been 
pretty well stripped already. Besides, if the expe- 
dition against the mill should be successful, per- 
haps flour and meal would be found in quantities 
sufficient to last the marauders for some time. If 
the patriots could not be subdued in any other 
way, then starvation could be tried ; for few men 
would remain in the army if once they heard that 
their wives and children were perishing from hun- 
ger, and Ellis’s mill was the only source of supply 
in all the region. 

Cox and Skinner had ceased from their conver- 
sation. It may have been that under their false 
impression of security they were dozing a little. 
The sound of the rushing water becomes monoto- 
nous after a time ; and as a narrow rim of the 
moon was all the light that remained, and even 
that was obscured by a cloud, it was not strange 
that the men forgot their duty for a moment. 

But they were suddenly recalled to it. With a 
yell that was prolonged and thrown back and forth 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES I3I 

by the rocky cliffs, the Indians and Tories made a 
rush upon the mill. Every one within at once 
knew what it meant ; but they were taken off their 
guard, and were poorly prepared to receive the 
attacking party, which far outnumbered their 
own. 

There was a quick discharge of guns, and one of 
the defenders fell dead. The Indians already were 
making an entrance into the mill, and it needed 
but one quick glance to convince the guard that 
all attempts to resist would be vain ; then every 
man turned to seek safety in flight. But the 
Tories lined the bank, urging their Indian com- 
panions to enter the mill ; and there was no hope 
to be found in that direction. Many of the guards 
leaped out of the windows to the river-bed below. 
Hard as were its rocks, they were not so hard as 
the hearts of the savages, and the desperate chance 
was quickly seized. 

Come on,” called Cox to his companions, as 
soon as he saw there was no hope of defending 
the place. 

“Where.?” inquired Skinner, who was so dazed 
he hardly knew in which direction to turn. 

“ Here, this way ; ” and the excited men started 
and ran swiftly towards the mill-race. 

Two of their companions, named Edick and 
Getman, followed them ; and in a few moments all 
four of the men were crouching low in the swift. 


132 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

cold water. They kept their bodies under, expos- 
ing only their faces, and then awaited the issue. 
Their teeth soon were chattering, and their hands 
grew numb and stiff. But they were not mindful 
of such little things; for the yells of the, Indians 
were still sounding, and they concluded that sev- 
eral of their companions must now be prisoners. 

I can’t stand this,” said Skinner, when ten 
minutes more had passed. I’m going to get 
out.” 

“ Where are you going ? What do you mean ? ” 
whispered Cox. “You can’t get up the bank, and 
the mill is full of Indians.” 

“ I’m going, though,” said Skinner with deter- 
mination. “ Will you come } ” 

Slowly he made his way along the mill-race, 
but Cox was the only one to follow him. They 
crawled on, stumbling often, and almost over-borne 
by the swift waters, and fearful every moment 
that their presence would be discovered ; but at 
last they reached the great water-wheel, and con- 
cealed themselves under its broad blades. 

“ Suppose they should start up the wheel,” 
whispered Cox. 

“ It would be all up with us if they should,” re- 
plied Skinner. “ It would be just like the red- 
skins to try 'everything about the place.” 

In suspense they crouched lower and waited. 
They could hear the men as they rushed about 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


133 


the mill ; but they were searching for prisoners, 
and as yet had no thoughts of setting the great 
wheel in motion. 

“ There ! That’s what I’ve been afraid of all the 
time,” said Cox, after a few minutes had passed. 

He had caught the reflection of a light, and the 
strange silence which had fallen over the place 
for a brief time was now explained. The attacking 
party had set fire to the mill ! 

The flames climbed higher and higher ; the roar 
was sounding now above the noise of the waters 
and the shouts of the men. The entire place grew 
bright, and the timbers began to crack and fall. 
The windows fell in, and in the freer draught the 
flames mounted higher and higher. 

‘‘ The wind’s the other way. That’s our only 
hope,” whispered Cox. “ If the mill falls, it’ll fall 
away from us. If it should fall this way ” — 

A groan was the only reply of his companion. 
How ghastly their faces were in the light of the 
flames ! Each thought he would hardly have 
recognized the other. They could occasionally see 
the faces of the men they had left in the mill- 
race. They would gladly have come to them now ; 
but their only hope lay in escaping the notice of 
the band, and any movement on their part would 
surely be seen. They must remain where they 
were, while all around them fell the glowing 
embers. 


134 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Suddenly the hearts of Cox and Skinner almost 
stopped beating. There came a yell louder than 
before from the Indians, who were now seen gath- 
ering by the race-way and running along its side. 
Had they been discovered ? They tried to shrink 
farther back under the wheel. But after a moment 
they saw that their two companions were the ob- 
jects of the attacking party, and that they had 
been discovered in their hiding-place. 

“ Come up out of there ! ” shouted a Tory. 
“ Come up, and we’ll roast you. You’ll boil where 
you are.” 

A loud laugh greeted his words ; but Edick and 
Getman, well aware that their only safety lay in 
surrendering, grasped the outstretched hands, and 
were drawn up on the bank. Their own hands 
were quickly bound behind them, and then they 
were led away. 

Meanwhile the fire burned on. The timbers fell 
about the men crouching under the wheel. The 
air was filled with smoke and flames, but they 
resolutely held to their positions. 

But all things have an end, and even the horrors 
of that night passed at last. When the morning 
sun flrst appeared, as no sounds from the enemy 
had been heard for some time, and only a smoul- 
dering mass remained of Ellis’s mill, Cox and 
Skinner crawled forth from their -hiding-place un- 
harmed. 


BETWEEN TWO FIRES 


135 


They saw no signs of the Indians and Tories, 
who, with half a dozen prisoners, well satisfied 
with their night’s work, had long since sought 
shelter far away among the hills. 


136 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


XVIII 

MRS. SLOCUMB’s visitors 

One warm morning in the spring of 1780, Mrs. 
Slocumb was sitting on the broad piazza about her 
home on a large plantation in South Carolina. Her 
husband and many of his neighbors were with Sum- 
ter, fighting for the struggling colonies ; but on this 
beautiful morning there were almost no signs of 
war to be seen. 

As yet this plantation had not been molested ; 
and as Mrs. Slocumb glanced at her little child 
playing near her, or spoke to her sister, who was 
her companion, or addressed a word to the ser- 
vants, there was no alarm manifest. But in one 
moment the entire scene was changed. 

“There come some soldiers,” said her sister, 
pointing towards an officer and twenty troopers, 
who had just turned out of the highway, and en- 
tered the yard. 

Mrs. Slocumb made no reply, although her face 
became pale, and there was a tightening of her 
lips as she watched the men. Her fears were not 
allayed when she became satisfied that the leader 


MRS. SLOCUMB S VISITORS 


37 


was none other than the hated Colonel Tarleton. 
That short, thick-set body dressed in a gorgeous 
scarlet uniform, the florid face and cruel expres- 
sion, proclaimed the approaching officer only too 
well. But the mistress displayed no sign of fear 
as she arose to listen to the words of the leader, 
who soon drew his horse to a standstill before 
her. 

Raising his cap, and bowing almost to his horse’s 
neck, he said, “ Have I the pleasure of addressing 
the mistress of this plantation } ” 

“ It is my husband’s.” 

And is he here ? ” 

‘‘ He is not.” 

** He is no rebel, is he ? ” 

No, sir. He is a soldier in the army of his 
country, and fighting her invaders.” 

“He must be a rebel, and no friend of his coun- 
try, if he fights against his king and master.” 

“ Only slaves have masters here,” replied the 
undaunted woman. 

Tarleton’s face flushed, but he made no reply; 
and turning to one of his companions, gave orders 
for a camp to be made in the orchard near by. 
Soon the eleven hundred men in his command had 
pitched their tents there, and the peaceful planta- 
tion took on the garb of war. 

Returning to the piazza, and again bowing low, 
the British leader said, “ Necessity compels his 


138 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Majesty’s troops to occupy your place for a time, 
and I shall have to make my quarters in your house ; 
that is, if it will not be too great an inconvenience 
to you.” 

“ My family consists at present of only myself, 
my child, and sister, besides the servants ; and we 
must obey your orders.” 

In less than an hour the entire place was trans- 
formed. The white tents covered the lawn, horses 
were tied to the high rail fences, and soldiers in 
bright uniforms were moving here and there. Be- 
fore entering the house, the British colonel called 
some of his officers, and gave sharp orders for 
scouring the country within the neighborhood of 
ten or fifteen miles. 

This sharp command was not lost upon Mrs. 
Slocumb, nor was she slow to act upon it herself, 
as we soon shall see. But for the present, trying 
to stifle her fears, she determined to make the best 
of the situation, and avert all the danger possible 
by providing for the comfort of Tarleton and his 
men ; and accordingly she had a dinner soon ready 
fit for a king, and surely far too good for such a 
cruel and bloodthirsty man as Tarleton soon was 
known to be. 

When the colonel and his staff were summoned 
to the dining-room, they sat down to a table which 
fairly groaned beneath the good things heaped upon 
it. It was such a dinner as only the South Caro- 


MRS. SLOCUMB S VISITORS 


139 


lina matrons knew how to prepare, and the men 
soon became jovial under its influences. 

‘‘We shall have few sober men by morning,” said 
a captain, “ if this is the way we are to be treated. 
I suppose when this little war is over, all this coun- 
try will be divided amongst the soldiers. Eh, 
colonel ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly the officers will occupy large 
portions of the country,” replied Tarleton. 

“ Yes, I know just how much they will each 
occupy,” said Mrs. Slocumb, unable to maintain 
silence longer. 

“ And how much will that be, madam ? ” inquired 
Tarleton, bowing low. 

“ Six feet two.” 

The colonel’s face again flushed with anger as 
he replied, “ Excuse me, but I shall endeavor to 
have this very plantation made over to me as a 
ducal seat.” 

“ I have a husband, whom you seem to forget ; 
and I can assure you, he is not the man to allow 
even the king himself to have a quiet seat on his 
ground.” 

But the conversation suddenly was interrupted 
by the sound of guns. 

“ Some straggling scout running away,” said one 
of the men, not quite willing to leave the table. 

“No, sir. There are rifles there, and a good 
many of them too,” said Tarleton, rising quickly 


140 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

and rushing to the piazza, an example which all, 
including Mrs. Slocumb, at once followed. She 
was trembling now, for she felt assured that she 
could explain the cause of the commotion. 

“May I ask, madam,” said Tarleton, turning to 
her as soon as he had given his orders for the 
action of the troops, “whether any of Washington’s 
forces are in this neighborhood or not 

“You must know that General Greene and the 
marquis are in South Carolina, and I have no doubt 
you would be pleased to see Lee once more. He 
shook your hand very warmly the last time he met 
you, I am told.” 

An oath escaped the angry colonel’s lips, and 
he glanced for a moment at the scar which the 
wound Lee had made had left on his hand ; but he 
turned abruptly, and ordered the troops to form on 
the right as he dashed down the lawn. 

A shout and the sound of firearms drew the at- 
tention of Mrs. Slocumb to the long avenue that 
led to the house, A cry escaped her at the sight ; 
for there was her husband, followed by two of her 
neighbors, pursuing on horseback a band of five To- 
ries whom Tarleton had sent to scour the country. 

On and on they came, and it was evident that 
the pursuers were too busy to have noticed the 
army of Tarleton. Broad swords and various kinds 
of weapons were flashing in the air, and it was 
plain that the enraged Slocumb saw nothing except 


MRS. SLOCUMb’s visitors 


I4I 

the Tories he was pursuing. Could nothing be 
done ^ Would they run into the very heart of the 
camp.? Mrs. Slocumb tried to scream and warn 
her husband, but not a sound could she make. 
One of the Tories had just fallen, when she saw 
her husband’s horse suddenly stop and swerve to 
one side. What was the cause .? 

Sambo, the slave whom Mrs. Slocumb had de- 
spatched, as soon as Tarleton had come, to warn 
her husband, had started promptly on his errand ; 
but the bright coats of the British had so charmed 
him that he had lingered about the place, and when 
the sound of the guns was heard Sambo had gone 
only as far as the hedgerow that lined the avenue. 

Discretion became the better part of valor then, 
and the negro in his fear had crawled beneath the 
bushes for shelter ; but when his frightened face 
beheld his master approaching, he had mustered 
courage enough to crawl forth from his hiding-place 
and startle the horses as they passed. 

<<Hor on, massa! Hoi’ on!” he shouted. 

Recognizing the voice, Slocumb and his follow- 
ers for the first time stopped and glanced about 
them. Off to their left were a thousand men 
within pistol-shot. As they wheeled their horses, 
they saw a body of horsemen leaping the hedge 
in the rear. Quickly wheeling again, they started 
directly for the house near which the guard had 
been stationed. On they swept, and leaping the 


142 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

fence of lath about the garden patch, amid a shower 
of bullets started through the open lots. 

Another shower of bullets fell about them as 
their horses leaped the broad brook, or canal as 
it was called ; and then, almost before the guard 
had cleared the fences, they had gained the shelter 
of the woods beyond, and were safe. 

The chagrin of the British Tarleton was as great 
as the relief of Mrs. Slocumb ; and when on the 
following day the troops moved on, the cordial 
adieu of the hostess led the colonel to say, “The 
British are not robbers, madam. We shall pay you 
for what we have taken.” 

“I am so rejoiced at what you have not taken 
that I shall not complain if I do not hear from you 
again.” 

And she neither heard nor complained. 



ON, 


! ” 


Hol’ 


Massa ! Hol’ 


ON 


He shouted. 

Page i4i 




THE WIFE OF GENERAL GREENE 


143 


XIX 

THE WIFE OF GENERAL GREENE 

Kate Littlefield was a Block Island girl ; 
but when very young she was sent with her sister 
to become members of the household of her aunt, 
the wife of Governor Greene, whose home was in 
Warwick, and there the young Quaker, Nathanael*^ 
Greene, met her when she was a school-girl. 

This serious young man, nine years the senior 
of the dashing Kate, was completely fascinated. 
She appealed to him as many a bright girl has 
done to a man whose disposition was very different 
from his own. 

She is described as having been of a fine 
figure, not very tall, of light complexion, with full 
gray eyes, and regular, clear-cut features. Her 
movements were alert, and her mind quicker than 
her body. She was not over fond of study, but 
was a fascinating talker. The spirit of mischief 
was ever present ; and even after the war was 
over, and she had endured, as many of the brave 
women did, it did not leave her. 

One time, during the year she spent in Newport, 


144 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

she dressed herself as an old and helpless beggar 
woman, and went from house to house among her 
friends with her piteous story and sad appeal. From 
house after house she was turned away, no one sus- 
pecting her, unless it was to warn the servants to 
watch her carefully until she left the grounds. At- 
last, when the rounds had been finished, she threw 
off her disguise, and thoroughly enjoyed the joke 
against her friends, as she pointed to the one loaf 
of bread she had received after all her efforts. 

With all her spirit of fun, as a mother she was 
remarkably strict in her discipline, and demanded 
and received from all of her children the most im- 
plicit obedience. Perhaps the military life of her 
husband aided in this ; but she also entered into 
their childish sports with all her heart, and even 
compelled that great man, her husband, to join. 

The year which they spent in Newport, after the 
dangers of the war were over, perhaps made her, by 
a natural reaction, more gay than ever ; and a visi- 
tor at their home recorded his surprise when one 
day he found the great general and his wife and 
children all playing ^‘puss in the corner.” 

How Nathanael won this bright, happy girl we 
do not know. She was coquettish, though not a 
coquette, and in great demand ; but perhaps she 
appreciated his manly strength and integrity the 
more because of her own vivacity. It must have 
been a source of honest pride, when she came to 


THE WIFE OF GENERAL GREENE 


145 


see his power over men, to realize her power over 
him. Just how much she had to do with his aban- 
doning the Quakers is not known. It has been 
claimed that it came about because he joined the 
Kentish Guards about a year before the breaking 
out of the Revolution ; but it also occurred very 
near the time of his marriage, July twentieth, 1774. 

The couple began their married life in Coventry, 
where Nathanael had a new forge, and trade was 
brisk. The thrifty New Englanders were aghast 
when they saw the beautiful mansion he erected 
for his young bride, and there was many a fore- 
boding shake of the head. But the young black- 
smith was unmoved, and went about his work still 
wearing his broad-brimmed hat. Perhaps Mistress 
Kate thought it set off the manly figure of her 
husband to good advantage. 

Just how much our country owes her for the 
part she played in the struggle that followed can- 
not be told. But she was quick to urge her hus- 
band to enter the army, and he as quick to respond. 

In the early part of the war she remained at 
home, as did most of the leaders’ wives ; but she 
was never idle, and her house was a hospital for 
the sick, and a refuge for the oppressed. 

When the army went into winter quarters she 
joined her husband ; and that long, sad winter at 
Valley Forge was endured by her without a mur- 
mur, or loss of sparkle and life. And often when 


146 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

it was not prudent for her to join him, their let- 
ters show how poorly they endured the separation. 
Indeed, these letters sometimes were not delivered 
by friends, as they knew she would not be held 
back by any of the dangers that threatened from 
making the attempt to join him. There are letters 
also from General and Mrs. Washington written 
during this time, and which show a desire to teach 
her to endure patiently. Some of General Greene’s 
letters to her show how hard the loss of her com- 
pany was to him ; and he even tries to be light and 
witty, as he describes the scenes and adventures 
through which he was passing. 

But in 1781 she went South, and remained with 
her husband till the war was ended. Only during 
the heat of the summer, when she sought a cooler 
refuge among the islands, was she absent. 

At last, when the struggle was ended, Nathanael 
Greene was in a quandary. His business was gone, 
and he had a wife and five children looking to him 
for support. It is true Congress voted him a 
medal and two of the captured British cannon ; 
but as a diet for growing children these were not 
over-promising. 

Northward the little family went, and for a year 
made their home in Rhode Island. But North 
Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia had not for- 
gotten him, and each voted him a valuable tract 
of land ; and it was soon decided that they would 


THE WIFE OF GENERAL GREENE 


147 


go South again ; and southward they went, to make 
their home at Mulberry Grove on the Savannah 
River. 

The impressive Yankee Kate entered into the 
new life with all her heart, and her letters show 
the impressions she received. The following ex- 
tract is almost like a mental photograph : “ If you 
expect to be an inhabitant of this country, you 
must not think to sit down with your netting-pins ; 
but, on the contrary, employ half your time at the 
toilet, one quarter to paying and receiving visits, 
the other quarter to scolding servants, with a hard 
thump every now and then over the head, or 
singing, dancing, reading, writing, or saying your 
prayers. This latter is quite a phenomenon ; but 
you need not tell how you employ your time.” 

But the life in the South was not long sunny. 
General Greene, perhaps not acclimated, or else 
worn out by his exertions, on a visit to Savannah, 
in June, 1786, was stricken with what they called 
“sunstroke,” and soon died; and Kate Littlefield 
at thirty-five was a widow, with five children and a 
badly encumbered property. But the light-hearted 
girl was a matron now, stouter in form and with 
a resolute will, and set about managing the estate. 
She scorned the opportunity to rid herself of her 
husband’s debts, calling them “debts of honor,” 
and declared, “ I would starve rather than not pay 
them.” She changed her residence to Cumberland 


148 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Island, looked after her children, managed the es- 
tate herself, and prospered. 

The relation she had to one of the great inven- 
tions of the age has been forgotten by many, but is 
worthy of remembrance. A young man from New 
England named Eli Whitney had come to Georgia 
to be a tutor in a family near her, but had been 
disappointed ; and, friendless and penniless, was re- 
ceived by Mrs. Greene into her family. There are 
various stories about his introduction to Phineas 
Miller, a large cotton grower there ; but she had 
mentioned his mechanical ability, although he was 
studying law at the time, and out of that interview 
and her encouragement and Miller s aid came the 
cotton-gin, which revolutionized the cotton indus- 
try of the world. 

After Aaron Burr killed Hamilton, he wrote the 
wife of Nathanael Greene that he would be her 
guest. Hamilton had been her warm friend, and 
and she had no mind to be hostess to his slayer ; 
and as Burr rode up to her home, which had been 
placed at his disposal, the resolute little woman 
left it, riding away in her own coach. It is need- 
less to report that Aaron Burr’s visit was not a' 
protracted one. 

But, alas ! that I should record it, the vivacious, 
resolute Kate Littlefield-Greene had not only be- 
come interested in the cotton-gin, but in Eli Whit- 
ney’s supporter, Phineas Miller ; and she who had 


THE WIFE OF GENERAL GREENE 


149 


been so devoted to the young Quaker general be- 
came Mrs. Miller. 

Life thenceforward was easier, and so far as we 
know she was happy ; but alas for the stories of 
Evangeline and Penelope ! But ever since Virgil’s 
day, and Dido’s also, varium et mtitabile se7nper 
feminay and Kate Littlefield-Greene-Miller was no 
exception. Her husband was devoted and kind ; 
and if she followed the example of Ruth instead 
of that of Penelope, perhaps it was her affair and 
not ours. 

She had five children by Nathanael Greene, two 
sons and three daughters. The eldest son, George 
Washington Greene, a namesake of whom the great 
commander was extremely fond, was drowned in 
the Savannah River, and his mother never entirely 
recovered from the shock. The second son was 
named for his father, and was familiarly known as 
“Nat.” He, with his three sisters, survived Mrs. 
Miller, and followed her remains, just as the second 
struggle with England was near its close, to their 
last resting-place in the family burying-ground on 
Cumberland Island. 


150 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


XX 

THE CAPTURE AT RAMAPO PASS 

In the summer of 1781 the forces of Washing- 
ton lay for six weeks at Dobbs Ferry on the Hud- 
son. Every day Sir Henry Clinton, who was in 
command of the British in New York, had been 
expecting an attack, and we now know Washing- 
ton had been preparing to move against the city ; 
but the failure of Count De Grasse, who was hold- 
ing the French fleet at the West Indies, to co- 
operate with the troops on land had compelled 
him to abandon the project, and he had decided to 
move rapidly to the South and attack Cornwallis, 
who was then in Virginia. 

But he was very desirous that Clinton should 
not suspect his plan, for he might prevent the 
march, or send re-enforcements to Cornwallis ; and 
either action would hinder, if it did not defeat, his 
project. 

So the American commander bent all his ener- 
gies to deceive the British, and make them think 
that New York was still the place to be attacked. 
Indeed, we know that even after the march was 


THE CAPTURE AT RAMAPO PASS I5I 

begun, the French troops, who went by the way 
of Perth Amboy, there stopped to build ovens and 
boats, and gave out that they were about to attack 
the posts on Staten Island, and then move against 
the city. 

There were other means that Washington used, 
however, to produce the same impression, even be- 
fore his army left Dobbs P'erry ; and it is with one 
of these that this story has to do. 

“I want to see Dominie Montagnie,” said 'an 
orderly to a company of men who were seated near 
a tent in the camp at Dobbs Ferry. 

“There he is over there,” replied one of the 
soldiers, pointing to a young man not far away. 

“ That Dominie Montagnie ! ” said the orderly. 
“ Why, he’s only a boy.” 

“Boy or not, he’s one of the stanchest Whigs 
in all this region. There isn’t a better man in all 
the Continental army,” replied the soldier. 

The orderly left, and as he approached the 
young man, shrewdly scanned his face. Evi- 
dently he was satisfied with what he saw, for 
he at once addressed him. “ Is this Dominie 
Montagnie ? ” 

“Yes,” replied the young preacher, returning 
the look of the officer. 

“Well, General Washington wants to see you 
at once.” 

“ Wants to see me ? What for ? ” 


152 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

I don’t know. Come with me and you will 
soon find out.” 

Young Montagnie asked no further questions, 
but arose and accompanied his guide to the quar- 
ters of the commander. He never had spoken to 
him before ; but he shared fully in the feeling of 
respect which all the army had for their leader, 
and he was somewhat abashed when the general 
arose to receive him, and could hardly reply to 
the kind words he heard when he was presented. 

‘‘Yes, I have known of you,” said Washington ; 
“ and from all I can hear, I am certain I can rely 
upon you. Is this true ? ” 

“I try to do my best. General,” said Montagnie 
modestly. 

“ That’s right. Now, I have a very important 
commission for you ; ” and the general paused a 
moment to note the effect of his words. But the 
young man only bowed, and the great commander 
continued, “ I want to send some despatches by 
you to Morristown. You will cross the river at 
King’s ferry, go up by Haverstraw, and through 
Ramapo Pass.” 

Montagnie looked up quickly at the words “ Ra- 
mapo Pass.” Yes, he knew the place, and too well. 
It was a narrow defile among the hills in New 
Jersey, and already had been the scene of some of 
the most exciting events in the Revolution. And 
now the cowboys and skinners held it ; and if he 


THE CAPTURE AT RAMAPO PASS 1 53 

should once fall into their hands, he knew what 
would occur. 

But, General,” he ventured to stammer, “ Ra- 
mapo Pass is one of the headquarters of the Tories, 
and I shall surely be taken if I try to go that way. 
Why may I not go by the upper road ? I am fa- 
miliar with every foot of the country.” 

‘‘Young man,” said Washington, stamping his 
foot in real or pretended anger, “ your duty is not 
to talk, but to obey.” 

The young preacher saw that all remonstrance 
would be vain ; and although he could not under- 
stand why he should not be left to select his own 
route, especially since he was to go through a coun- 
try he knew thoroughly, he only bowed his head, 
and promised to do his best. “When am I to 
go .? ” he inquired. 

“ Now ; just as soon as you can get ready.” 

Just at dusk, dressed in citizen’s clothing, and 
with the despatches sewed inside the lining of his 
sleeve, young Montagnie was carried across the 
river, and started on his journey. Even a horse 
was denied him ; but the hardy young Continental 
cared little for that, and all night long kept steadily 
on his way. 

It was about a half-hour before sunrise when 
he came near to Ramapo Pass. “ My time has 
come,” he said to himself. “ If I can once get 
safely through this place I have no fear of the 


154 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

rest of the way.” But he was more excited than 
he knew, and was breathing rapidly as he entered 
the pass. 

He grasped his heavy walking-stick more tightly, 
and glanced about him. The passage between the 
hills was becoming very narrow. Beside the road- 
way there was only a narrow little strip of land, and 
the swift-flowing stream that ran noisily on its way. 
The steep hillsides rose abrupt and rocky. The 
damp, cool air of the early morning, the noise of 
the stream, the threatening cliffs and bowlders, 
which might conceal some of his enemies, all in- 
creased the nervous dread of the messenger, and 
he quickened his steps. Once through, his greatest 
danger would be passed. 

“ This will never do,” thought Montagnie. “ If 
any one is watching me, I shall arouse his suspi- 
cions if I run,” and he began to walk leisurely, 
although his fear increased each moment. Up to 
this time he had seen no one, and had met with no 
interruption on his journey. Perhaps his fear was 
unreasonable ; but he had thought so much and so 
long of this place, and was so familiar with the 
stories of the deeds of the murdering cowboys 
there, that every sense was alert. 

Several times he thought he saw faces peering 
out from behind the bowlders, but he had not 
stopped ; and now he was almost through the pass. 
Yes, he could see where the valley became wider 


THE CAPTURE AT RAMAPO PASS 1 5$ 

before him, and soon he would be out from under 
these terrible cliffs with their long shadows and 
dark hiding-places. He began to breathe more 
freely now, and again quickened his pace. 

Hark ! What was that ? He stopped and lis- 
tened, and in a moment knew he had not been 
deceived. He could hear the sound of approach- 
ing horsemen, and they were coming rapidly down 
the road before him. 

He glanced behind him for a hiding-place, and 
already had started to climb the cliffs, when he 
caught sight of the approaching men, and realized 
that he could not gain a place of concealment 
before they would be near enough to see him. 
Perhaps they had already discovered him. There 
was nothing left but to resume his place in the 
road, walk on as though he neither feared nor sus- 
pected anything, and show as bold a face as possi- 
ble. But if his face was bold, it was the only bold 
thing about him ; for his heart sank when he saw 
the six men enter the pass, and bring their horses 
to a walk as they noticed the stranger. 

He could see their faces now, and his alarm 
increased when he recognized the leader as Rich- 
ard Smith. He had been at Goshen when his 
father, Claudius Smith, along with Gordon and De 
la Mar, had been hung. Montagnie knew what 
a desperado Claudius Smith had been, and what a 
terror his gang of cowboys had been in Orange 


156 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

County and along the borders of New Jersey. 
Many rewards had been offered for his arrest ; and 
about a year and a half before this time he had 
been captured at Oyster Bay and taken to Goshen, 
where he was chained to the floor of the jail, and 
a strong guard placed over him. All his efforts to 
escape had been vain ; and with his two compan- 
ions he had been hung, as Montagnie himself knew, 
for he had been in Goshen on that very day. But 
Smith’s son, Richard, had been avenging the death 
of his father ; and the poor Whigs in that region 
had been suffering more at his hands than they 
had from his father s. 

These were the thoughts that were passing rap- 
idly through the mind of the messenger ; and there 
was this desperado, Richard Smith, approaching, 
and with him five men as desperate as he at his 
back. What villanous-looking men they were. He 
grasped his walking-stick more firmly, and tried to 
appear calm. 

“ Good-morrow, gentlemen,” said Montagnie. 

A gruff word was the only reply, but each man 
was glancing sharply at him. Evidently they were 
suspicious ; but, as they passed on, Montagnie 
breathed more easily. The danger was almost 
passed, and in a moment he would be beyond their 
sight. 

But he was not to escape so easily. Without 
turning his head, he was aware that they had 


THE CAPTURE AT RAMAPO PASS 1 5/ 

Stopped, and were watching him. The moment 
was a critical one. Would it never come to an 
end ? 

“ Hold, stranger ! ” called one of the men. 
“You travel early.” 

The messenger stopped, for there was nothing 
else to be done, and waited as quietly as possible 
for the others to approach. They soon gathered 
about him, and he knew his only hope lay in his 
being calm. 

“Yes,” he replied; “and neither are you late 
in your start.” 

“ Where might you be bound } ” said Smith, 
ignoring his words. 

“ Oh, up the road here, among the hills.” 

Smith laughed derisively, as he replied, “ That 
won’t do. Up the road may lead to Morristown, 
or it may be New York. You’ll have to give an 
account of yourself.” 

The young preacher glanced quickly about him. 
Should he try to fight ? Six men, armed and 
mounted, were before him, and they would think 
no more of shooting him than they woulcf a squir- 
rel by the roadside. 

The leader had not failed to note his hesitation ; 
and he turned to his men and said, “ Search him, 
boys. If he’s straight it’ll do no harm ; and if he 
isn’t, it’s the only thing to be done.” 

In a moment Montagnie had forgotten his cau- 


158 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

tion. If the papers were found perhaps the men 
would kill him, and if he must die he would sell 
his life as dearly as possible. He had been so 
quiet that the two men who approached were taken 
off their guard when he suddenly whirled his heavy 
stick and struck one a heavy blow, and then turned 
to the other. With a bound he leaped over the 
fallen men and started for the cliffs. It was a des- 
perate venture, and every moment he expected to 
hear the sound of their guns. He struggled on, 
however, unmindful of everything but his one de- 
sire to escape. 

“ Don’t shoot ! don’t shoot ! ” he heard Smith 
call. “He may be worth more alive than dead. 
Ha, ha! Who would have thought such a peace- 
able-looking youngster could have given such a 
rap ? ” and he laughed again when he saw how 
angry his companions were. “ Take after him ! 
Be quick, or he’ll get away 1 ” 

Montagnie was struggling desperately to make 
his way up the hillside. For a moment he thought 
they had abandoned the pursuit, although he won- 
dered why they did not shoot ; but he soon under- 
stood it all when he saw two of the men coming 
toward him. They had known of a path, and by 
taking it had been able to gain the heights above. 

To attempt farther flight was useless now ; and, 
without a word, he followed his captors to the road 
below. 


THE CAPTURE AT RAMAPO PASS 


159 


** Take him up to the hut, boys,” said Smith ; 
and the messenger soon found himself in a rude 
log house about two hundred yards from the road, 
and concealed among the defiles of the hills. 

** Now search him,” said the leader ; and the 
men immediately began to do his bidding. 

His three-cornered hat was cut into pieces, but 
nothing was found in it. Next his coat was taken 
off, and in a moment one of the men exclaimed, 
Here’s something ; it’s inside the lining,” and he 
cut open the sleeve and drew forth the despatches, 
which he tossed to Smith. The leader quickly 
opened them ; and as he read, the others watched 
him keenly. 

“ It’s a good find, boys, and all right. That’s 
what comes of making a general out of a farmer. 
Who was the fool that tried to hide this in the 
lining of a sleeve ” he inquired, turning to Mon- 
tagnie. “ Why, it’s the very first place we’d look 
into. And you must have been drunk to think 
you could get through Ramapo Pass with them. 
You don’t look like a lack- wit, but you must have 
been not to have taken the upper road. But 
Clinton will be glad to get this. Now, boys, what 
shall we do with this fellow, — hang him or send 
him away 

“ Shoot him,” said the one whom the messenger 
had struck. It’s none too good for him.” 

We’ll see about that a little later,” replied 


l60 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

Smith. We’ve got to get this letter to Clinton 
the first thing we do.” 

Two were left with the prisoner as a guard, and 
the others soon rode away. For three days and 
nights Montagnie lay in the hut, bound hand and 
foot. Not for a moment were the cords loosened ; 
and each day his guard told him they were about to 
take him out and hang him, and leave his body on 
a tree by the roadside, as a warning to all Whigs. 
The preacher had fully resigned himself, and ex- 
pected daily that the threat would be carried out. 

On the fourth day Smith returned, and, after a 
hurried consultation with the guard, rode away. 
The prisoner’s bands were soon loosed, and his 
aching limbs were rubbed by the guard ; but he 
had no other thought than that he was being pre- 
pared for his execution. Accordingly, when in a 
few hours he was bidden to follow them out of the 
hut, he glanced on every side for the rope he ex- 
pected to see dangling from some tree. 

As he walked on, his thoughts were somewhat 
bitter against Washington. Why had he insisted 
upon his coming through Ramapo Pass ? If he had 
been left to his own devices he would have taken 
the upper road, and never would have fallen into 
the hands of these desperadoes. 

“ Can you ride ? ” said one of the men abruptly. 

“Yes,” replied the preacher. Were they about 
to mount him on a horse, and then start the horse 


THE CAPTURE AT RAMAPO PASS l6l 

off after the noose had been adjusted ? He had 
heard of that plan having been used. 

But he had no time for meditation, as they came 
to a place where three horses were waiting. Al- 
most before he knew what had occurred, the pris- 
oner found himself mounted, and riding rapidly 
along the road with a guard on either side. 

What could it mean ? He saw no rope, and not 
a word was spoken. On and on they went, and 
gradually it dawned upon the young man’s mind 
what the destination was to be. Nor was he mis- 
taken ; for he soon was carried across the river, 
and placed in the old Sugar House Prison in New 
York, one of the famous provost prisons of that day. 

You’re a great one,” said the guard to Mon- 
tagnie next day. ‘‘Those letters you had were 
all about Washington’s plan to attack New York. 
But Clinton can take a hint, and everybody in 
the city is getting ready to receive the rebels.” 

Then he took from his pocket a copy of Riving- 
ton’s Gazette^ which contained a long account of 
his capture, the nature of the despatches he had 
carried, and the use Sir Henry was making of the 
information he had gained. 

Suddenly, as the guard finished his reading, 
Montagnie laughed aloud. 

“What are you laughing at.^ said the angry 
guard as he left. “ I don’t see anything funny in 
that.” 


1 62 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

But the prisoner did ; and all his bitterness 
towards Washington had vanished in a moment. 
Now he understood it all. Washington had in- 
tended all the time to have him taken prisoner 
with those despatches on his person, and thus to 
hold the British in New York while he himself 
started for Virginia. 

How well he held them we know from the fact 
that when Sir Henry next heard of him he was 
already beyond the Delaware, too far away to be 
pursued, and it was too late to send word or aid 
to Cornwallis. 

As for Parson Montagnie, he was not long kept 
a prisoner, for the war was soon ended ; but for 
years it was his delight to tell the story of his cap- 
ture. 

‘‘ I had read about the Greeks holding the pass 
of Thermopylae,” he would say, *‘and keeping the 
enemy out ; but I kept the enemy in by failing to 
hold the pass at Ramapo.” 


THE DANCE 


163 


XXI 

THE DANCE 

It is not known who wrote the words of this 
song. It was very popular at the close of the war, 
and was sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle. 

Cornwallis led a country dance, 

The like was never seen, sir. 

Much retrograde and much advance. 

And all with General Greene, sir. 

They rambled up and rambled down. 

Joined hands, then off they ran, sir. 

Our General Greene to Charlestown, 

The earl to Wilmington, sir. 

Greene in the South then danced a set, 

And got a mighty name, sir, 

Cornwallis jigged with young Fayette, 

But suffered in his fame, sir. 

Then down he figured to the shore, 

Just like a lordly dancer. 

And on his courtly honor swore. 

He would no more advance, sir. 

Quoth he, “ My guards are weary grown 
With footing country dances, 

They never at St. James’s shone 
At capers, kicks or prances. , 


164 STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


Though men so gallant ne’er were seen 
While sauntering on parade, sir, 

Or wriggling o’er the park’s smooth green, 
Or at a masquerade, sir. 

Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts 
For stumps and briars meet, sir? 

Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts, 

Or hardy veteran feet, sir?” 

Now housed in York he challenged all. 

At minuet or all ’amande. 

And lessons for a courtly ball, 

His guards by day and night conned. 

His challenge known, full soon there came, 
A set who had the bo7t ton, 

De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame 
Fut brillant pour un long temps. 

And Washington, Columbia’s son. 

Whom easy nature taught, sir, 

That grace which can’t by pains be won, 
Or Plutus’s gold be bought, sir. 

Now hand in hand they circled round. 

This ever-dancing peer, sir; 

Their gentle movements, soon confound 
The earl, as they drew near, sir. 

His music soon forgets to play — 

His feet can no more move, sir, 

And all his bands now curse the day, 

They jigged to our shore, sir. 

Now, Tories all, what can ye say? 

Come — is not this a griper, 

That while your hopes are danced away, 
’Tis you must pay the piper. 



m 







, » * 




■ : 7.V 77 •:W^77i:'V ■:>>?■ . .'.•tj 


• ':>X ’“- •’ 


< • 


i* 

' • i ** 




:-4 




V 

• ' 

4 


'Ji 


.* - <■ . 

■ •' -■■■- • 





7 ■ - . . 7 
:'77 ■’•'i ..'- 

ft 


- • ^ f 


♦ *• '*.V 


• d 

f « 







? V . ' 


,V’''' 7 ^?. 
‘ . 


r . -'a i 

.^i! 


-. ■. ' ' ■' - \ 

r 5 - .. v; 

' -u 

’J • * ' ' -v’ V 

- • ' . • V V - • ' 




<i‘i- "v . 




\ ft 7 - ♦ 1 


< ■ - -r:^ 


v^. 


* '*■'' ■ '• *'.' '■ *. 

4 • 1 ‘ • V 

•“fti*. 


' ' V'j' •’ ^ •-• 

^ . S*. s- * 

.-. • • ' r - 

- ■ ‘ 

-.>•■>' y; , ‘^:-i i^- 

•• . :V ' • *-''• • • 

r-^-. .-.v, ^ 


*‘4., . ^ - • 

• .•Mj : . 




y ^¥'W'* ♦ 




■ -W. ' 

ry- - 

^ ft *.Tf - « 






t ■ 


'V-»f 


• A . 


■ 


ft. 


•*ft’.' I . ■• ; 

. t, - 


, •=*X' . • ‘ - , . * 3 , vj; • ‘ , ^ • . . • * 

‘ '• .*.'> f f ' ^ . ..ft •;. . 

»s . ^ ^ . J- • s. . / ■ . ■ c. 


ft » • 

I v 


'• V J '^ '* t'i .'**• •^,‘ 

.. »^'T. . _.«jr7 % ^»'' J 


'/ ■ »!i. ’ 


ft *. ■ 




' '-^ 


• j> 


* -■ -ftlf vVft " * 




4 

. ♦- 

V*-’ 


■-•' : >‘ 

’ '• t XI ^ 


ft - 


) ft 7 * ; 



-f ' 

^ ft. 


"■ .* - ■- ■' V, /■'ft^'^V 


-r * 


ft ft 


". \ 


•.'■ = '■■'. ’ -.y- - ■ ".•^4 ’ ■ ■ ■ ■ ' 

''■^‘ **■ ‘•.'i. . >s ' ^ •'’’'S -^’.^ r? 

■• -v- ■■ -■• * > >• --''x-' 

' ■.'7-^-t^ ' ...',-7-4P ' ■■"7>^=7;7 

-j* • _. _«. -rw V'-*, .. • i> ^ « 


V- 


'* 7 ^ . r i- •-■’ 


• '.•». . . . ' »* •- ^HiOftgW 

ft ' ’’*<.« •• *^^>5 

^ ^ f A . 


' V 
-. ,/r- 


*■ 

» • ‘ft 



V 




T--: 


.f- ' 




^ : 


‘V. 




'tV < 



• *1 * 




> . * 


■^v 




• j 






I . r 


.i' , . ^' ' . -»T>', 




1^; 




^ ^ 


% • , 


V 


v»“ 


* 1 


^-V 


*i‘ < 


\ 


1'/ 


•' if*. J 


• I 





' -y ^ , . 

^ ^ . . / . . . 


. •v 


/ ^ 


I • 


« •> 


•C. i 




- I 


9 .. ■/•% •-■' 

<■ *v . .' • I 

. r 1 ^ ^ 

V »* .1 . »* j ! "• .'a. < * ‘ 

X *. 

;*,»*’ A.t , ■ ' ^ ^ 

.- •» < ^ I 


♦ r 


9 • 









r- 

-' » 


i 

t . • 


ft. • 








